Birds of a Feather
by The Seraph
Summary: Sequel to THE CRANE AND THE FALCON, continuing Crane and Sakura's story through The Dark Knight -- The Joker develops a distracting fascination with our bored villainess, who isn't particularly averse to this newfound excitement. Crane/OC/Joker
1. Beautiful Women

**I've decided to reboot _BoaF_**** and remove the flash-forwards to Saffron. At this point, her story really pales in comparison to Sakura's and would represent the "slow points", which I hate. It's unfair to the reader as well as my muse. In all honesty, she's not the strongest of characters and has no place as of yet. Don't worry if you've gotten attached, I'll keep her and her story on the back burner for a time when I'm not so drawn to ****_The Dark Knight._**

**This chapter, a lot more than the others, has been edited to the extreme. There's a rather long conversation/interrogation featuring Aaron Eckhart's Harvey Dent and Sakura. I felt that, in regards to his importance to the new film, he deserved a little more time on stage. **

**As for Sakura's fate, it might be changed. I'm really digging her death but now it's kind of spoiled, so I might let her live. I guess it all really depends on the Joker since he's going to feature quite heavily as the main baddie. **

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**Chapter I – Beautiful Women**

* * *

Jon had been dead-set against what she was been wearing. His exact words, more of a indecipherable screech, were "You're wearing that?".

Sakura had only laughed at him.

"Yes. I figure, what's the point of having feminine wiles if I don't use them?" she had replied, shutting the apartment door behind her with a pointed smirk. Perhaps that smile, or the low-cut of the dress, had made Jonathan uneasy.

He didn't question his instinct to follow her. Their monogamy had never been tested before, hell, he wasn't even sure if it _was_ a monogamous relationship. Since that night at the opera, they had never spoken about their relationship. They found no reason to, no shaky distrust lying between them. And yet, Jon still stepped out the door a few minutes after she did.

* * *

It was supposed to be a simple brunch with a dish of questions on the side. But what the meal was supposed to be and what it became were two very different things. Sakura knew it the moment she sat down, when first she noticed Harvey had a pad of paper for notes and a small stack of cards lined with questions. This man didn't play around.

"Good morning, Mr. Dent," she said coldly, again ignoring his outstretched hand. To her credit, she began the brunch with as much civility she possessed. "I hope I find you…well."

But Dent wasn't willing to exchange meaningless pleasantries with her. Instead, he held up a small tape, his face drawn and serious, "I have here a sworn testimony from Ms. Rachel Dawes, saying that you assaulted her in the Narrows and were involved in the Arkham Breakout." He ran a hand through his blonde hair before resting his chin on a balled fist. He stared at her, trying to weasel out the truth. "Do you have anything to say about that?"

"This is not an open interrogation, Mr. Dent. And judging from the heavy allegations, I feel I should have a lawyer present," she said swiftly, eyes blazing. "I came here with hopes of showing feels of good will between myself and the new defense attorney in Gotham. But apparently, that is not possible." She started to get up, but Dent wasn't about to let quite possibly the defining moment of his career get away.

He got up as well and took her arm, "Please, Ms. Falcone. I'm sorry I came on a bit strong," he said, his voice taken to the edge of pleading. "I'm sure there's some things you might want to clear up about that night," he added. Then he gestured back to the table. "Well, now's a perfect time."

Sakura paused, surveying Dent as he spoke. She noticed, if only for a split second, his eyes flicker southwards. Before now, before Jonathan, she would simply use this as an advantage, but things, as she was becoming all too aware of, had changed. It took all her willpower to keep herself from decking him right there in the middle of the restaurant. But what could she expect? She had _asked_ for that kind of attention, and Jonathan had even warned her about.

Against her will, she sank back into her seat, her head bobbing slightly in agreement. Her eyes were lowered, and she knew in the absence of her gaze, Dent was taking in every inch of her. She felt naked and powerless. But she couldn't just run away

_He's an attractive man_, a voice at the back of her mind said.It was true; Harvey was well built with a pleasant face and strong jaw.

_But _Sakura's brain screamed back in response,_ I don't care._

The voice spoke again. _He liked you._

_Jonathan loves me._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes…_

_Dent would be easy to manipulate. You could get to him in a second._

_I don't want to manipulate him._

_Bullshit. _

_Leave me ALONE!_

_Seduce him. He can make it all go away._

_I can't._

Sakura's heart fell silent in the argument with her brain. She couldn't exactly afford to daze off in the middle of brunch with Gotham's energetic DA. After all, wasn't he the one heading the investigations on her family, Jonathan and even herself? At this point, it really couldn't hurt to be a bit cooperative.

"Mr. Dent, I was under the impression you wanted some information on the night Dr. Crane was apprehended, when the police discovered his-," she paused, pretending to search for the correct word. She wrinkled her nose, "-contaminants."

Dent nodded. "Of course. I suppose we can work our way through chronologically, to the Breakout?"

She raised her eyebrows and took a sip of her ice water. "Whatever suits."

"Alright then." Dent smiled, his grin even and white. A public figure's best weapon. "Are you aware as to the nature of those contaminants?" His hand, clutching the pen, hovered over the notepaper.

"I suppose," another dramatic pause, "Well, judging from what I saw, what that- that spray did to the people, was it a hallucinogen? I know they all started screaming after he doused them."

"Very astute, Miss Falcone." His pen scratched on the paper. "Crane's toxin consisted mainly of a refined Asian flower and acted as a hallucinogenic. It played upon a person's worst fears." Sakura nodded, her eyes narrowed in pseudo-fascination. "We tested most of his patients at Arkham and found that he'd been giving them doses, sometimes to back insanity pleas, sometimes for no reason at all."

Her jaw dropped. She really was getting back into the acting swing. "My uncle?" Another scratch of the pen. He was weighing her reactions.

"He was among those found to have the toxin in their blood."

The waitress arrived then, pouring them both cups of coffee. Sakura ignored her, as she did most 'help'. "That sniveling doctor," she hissed, clenching her teeth. She made sure to ball her fist in plain sight. Even to the new D.A., her temper was well-known. "I'll sue Arkham for this."

Dent only laughed and stirred his over-sugared coffee. Sakura left hers untouched. She had enough energy without the caffeine. "Really, there's no need. We've had enough complaints from relatives without bringing the Mob into this."

"Really?" She glared at him and crossed her arms. "How my family makes its money has nothing to do with me."

He sipped his coffee, his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, please, Sakura." She flinched at his informal tone. "Everyone in this room knows your in deep with the Mob. How's Uncle Sal, by the way? Enjoying his new position?"

"Goading me won't get you anything, Mr. Dent," she replied coolly.

He laughed again. "I suppose not." They were both quiet for a moment, Dent stirring his coffee with the smallest of smiles. After nearly a minute of silence, Dent looked up expectantly. She only pursed her lips.

"I was under the impression _you_ would be asking the questions," she sneered.

For a moment, the unshakeable Dent looked rattled. "Yeah- yes. Sorry," he added. "So what about the big night? That's what I'm really interested in."

Ever the drama queen, she took a shaky breath. "That night," she murmured, looking down at her empty plate, "The Breakout," she added, noticing Harvey had produced a pen and looked ready to take notes. She needed to be as clear as possible; lawyers were just as bad as the press when it came to spinning statements. "I went into the Narrows, because well…let's just say I had family there. Other than Carmine."

He jotted it down eagerly. "Family?"

"Be happy with that, Dent. I can still walk away or better yet, call my lawyer."

"Fine, fine. You stop where you want, I won't push it. Fair?"

She bit her lip. "Fair."

"For now that is," he added, his eyes darkening. A silent reminder of his power. "Continue."

"I went in to help and after that, I don't-," she bit her lip again. "-I'm afraid I can't really recall."

Dent gestured to the small tape. "Rachel- Ms. Dawes, she says you attacked her. She says you would have killed her if the Batman hadn't stopped you."

"I told you, I don't remember." Under normal circumstances, she would have been yelling. She didn't like to repeat herself. "The last thing, the very last thing I saw was a man on a horse." She frowned. Dent's eyes seemed to light up. So Rachel had told him about Crane. "He was laughing or screaming, I don't really know. And then a manhole exploded and there was a hiss. And that's it."

She could tell he wasn't entirely convinced, but she could see the cogs in motion behind his eyes. "Are you saying you were drugged with Crane's toxin?"

"I'm saying I don't remember either way."

He wrote down a rather long note in a script too cramped for her to read, despite her very best efforts. "Ms. Falcone, I'm curious as to another statement of Ms. Dawes'."

Sakura smirked. "You seemed to place a great deal of stock in your pretty assistant." She was goading him now.

He didn't take the bait. "She's an intelligent young woman with impeccable judgment."

"Hmm," Sakura shrugged, "I guess there's more to her than meets the eye, eh, Harvey?"

For a second, she might have thought he blushed. "She said you were indefinitely involved with Dr. Jonathan Crane."

For this, she mustered her best and most condescending laughter. "You might want to get Miss Dawes a CAT scan."

"I must say I was reluctant to believe her too." He could play his own games. "After all, Crane doesn't exactly seem to be your type."

The waitress set down a platter of pastries, breads and various spreads. Neither Sakura nor Dent took any notice and she hurried away again.

Pretending to be intrigued, Sakura leaned forward. She realized too late that she had afforded him a wonderful view of her cleavage. "And what is my type, Mr. Dent?" It was just a bit of harmless flirting, right?

He strained to hold her gaze. "Not Crane. You'd never go for someone so weedy and," he smirked, "sniveling, was it?"

Her smile froze on her face as he pushed each and every one of her buttons. Dent continued, pausing only to bite into a Danish.

"I'd think you'd prefer your own kind."

She narrowed her eyes. "My _kind_?"

He ignored her. "Besides, beautiful women like you never go for the bookworm. It's plain science."

"I see," she sighed, leaning back into her seat. "Mr. Dent, you must have very little experience with women. Beautiful women, that is." This time, when he smiled, she wanted to wipe his stupid golden grin from not just his face, but the face of the earth.

"Oh, I've had just about my share."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just about?"

When he met her gaze, she could've sworn he winked faster than humanely possible. Then he leaned forward, his hand centimeters from her own. "I'm sure there's room for one or two more beautiful women in my life."

* * *

He had taken a taxi to _Antelli_, the restaurant where Sakura said she was having brunch. The worn baseball cap, courtesy of Sakura's closet, and an old sweatshirt that said Gotham University had helped in hiding his face. He was risking a lot, following her here to the bustling "better" part of Gotham.

When he arrived, Jonathan overpaid the driver, by nearly forty dollars, just in case the man had a faint inkling of who he was. And the fact that he only had twenties in his wallet. He stepped out on the street, pulling down the hat as far as it would go, and walked slowly to the window of the giant brass façade of the upscale restaurant. It took him less than a moment to spot her sitting near the center of the room.

He found himself smiling at the sight of her. The man couldn't hear what she was saying, but could tell she was mad. She was leaning back and trying very hard not to shoot something. This Dent character was playing her like a violin, winding her up like she was some plaything. Idiotic asshole. Jonathan chuckled but his rarely seen smile faded as quickly as it had come; Dent was crossing a line. A big line. A line that resulted in immediate pain.

Sakura obviously wasn't comfortable, despite what she tried to make everyone think, with the way Dent had begun to look at her. This wasn't what she wanted; even if it was, Jonathan would have doubted he would have been able to stand it anyways.

His ice eyes narrowed into cold slits and he marched forward, not knowing exactly what he was doing. But before he could reach the door, Sakura had left Dent, looking close to tears and fuming. She didn't move towards the front, but instead through the kitchen and - as Jonathan suspected - into the side alley.

The tall, lanky man in the baseball cap turned the corner, finding himself alone in the dirty alley with Sakura. She was up ahead, pacing, breathing heavily, hastily trying to pull the low top of her dress up her frame, but the fabric didn't budge, standing firm.

She hadn't seen him and thus drew her gun quicker than you could say hello when he put a pale hand on her arm, nearly blowing Jon's head from his shoulders. "Morning," Jon clipped, his grip on her wrist tightening.

"Oh-," she sighed, her dark eyes welling with tears of rage. "Oh, God, Jon, I- I'm sorry, I'm just so-," her voice broke and she mouthed wordlessly, looking off into space. "I swear to God, I'm going to castrate him," she cursed through gritted teeth.

Jon growled lowly and Sakura raised an eyebrow in surprise. She had never seen him so defensive, of her at least. "Depends on who he bumps into first," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You're alright?" he added, his sharp gaze softening.

Sakura, despite the circumstances, felt herself smile. Sometimes Jon was just what the doctor ordered. For a moment, she didn't answer, instead stepping towards him coyly, her hands running up his thin arms to his neck. "I will be," she murmured coyly.

He smirked against her and she took his hand, leading him back to where her limo was waiting.

* * *

**Of the older chapters, this is the most changed. Skipping the next two is fine if you're familiar with the story, you'll only miss a few choice quips here and there. Happy reading!**


	2. Alliances

**Nothing changed here except the chapter title. Feel free to skip if you've already read.**

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**Chapter II - Wanted**

* * *

It wasn't long until the posters were in every window, bus stop, and telephone booth in the city. The escaped 'patients' stared down from every bright orange **WANTED **poster, teasing Sakura as she was caught in the evening traffic. Jon's posters were a fluorescent yellow, making them stand out against the monochromatic pallet of the city. He even had a reward; they thought he had a hand in incident in the Narrows. Aside from the toxin, he was not much more than an innocent bystander. _Innocent._ Sakura snorted at that one. He was far from innocent. They both were.

A week later and she still couldn't open a newspaper without reading his name once or twice. _Wanted for this, under investigation for that._ To Sakura, it was old hat. She herself had managed to be included in a record forty-seven issues of _The Gotham Times_, the most for any woman in one year. Her debut had been years ago; her ball that marked her as a debutante (that she would later prove to fail miserably at) was open to the press and every fashion magazine between L.A. and Milan ran a spread. _Flying with Falcones_, it had been called. Sakura had nearly projectile-vomited when she read the article. She had never seen such bullshit in print. But then again, her family had to be on their best behavior with the press. They were life or death to them. One photo, one snippet of conversation, and the family was finished. Sakura had dodged a bullet that night in the Narrows, and their would be many more to come.

"Gianni, can you find out how long this is going to take?" she seethed, frustrated that it was taking so long. Jon would call if she wasn't back within the hour, and calls meant cell phones. Cell phones meant phone records. And records of any kind were rarely good. The limo driver nodded his head, holding the front car phone to his ear. Gianni was an old friend, assigned to Sakura at birth as her driver and guard. His wife, Delilah, had been Sakura's nanny, along with a close friend in the years of late.

The driver put the phone back in its cradle, craning his neck while he spoke. "Lou says there's an accident up ahead, on the corner of 8th and Wester. Big pile-up, all over da' news." He frowned for a moment, crunching numbers in his head. "Maybe another half hour, forty-five minutes tops."

Sakura couldn't help but groan in frustration. The newspaper in her hand crumpled loudly and she threw it across the cab of the car, sinking back into the leather seat, brow furrowed. The apartment was less than eight blocks away, she would have to walk. "I'll walk," she spat, reaching for the door.

"You want a guard? I can get Mickey here on his bike-," but Sakura was already gone. Gianni had learned a long time ago that Sakura could take care of herself, but it was always nice to ask. The old man sighed to himself, resigning to nearly an hour of grueling bumper-to-bumper.

Darkness began to sink steadily over the city, creeping out of the alleys and onto the streets. In spite of herself, Sakura wrapped her arms around her frame, as if protecting herself from the provocative stares from the men who passed. If only they could get a proper look, they would know who she was and no harm would come to her. But the dark of the evening and the shimmery white scarf wrapped around her head and hair made it difficult to discern woman from criminal. Only one man on the street had any idea who she was, and happened to be the only one to whom she owed any debt.

Sakura heard a car alarm go off somewhere behind her and she turned her head, looking back along the pavement. She had turned down one of the smaller sidestreets a few minutes before and the lights and beeping horns of the traffic jam had died away. When she turned back around, she found herself looking up into deep, dark eyes and at an all too familiar silhouette.

"Good evening, Miss Falcone," Batman rumbled.

The woman almost fell back in surprise. "Nice to see you too, Batboy," Sakura shot back, trying to step around him. The man put a firm hand on her chest, pushing her back in front of him.

"Not so fast," he growled.

"Did you want something? I'm expected within the hour."

He smirked down at her. "By who, the good doctor?" Sakura's reaction was almost priceless to him.

Her dark eyes turned cold and she balled her good fist. The other was wrapped in a decorative scarf to conceal the splint. "How's your foot?" she spat, kicking down hard. Less than a week ago, she had put a knife through the same appendage. She wasn't afforded the luxury of seeing him in pain.

"Touchy, are we?"

Narrowing her eyes, Sakura spun on her heel. She set off in the other direction, her footsteps echoing off the brick walls on both sides. "I need information!" he called after her, not moving to stop her. Instead, she halted herself, but said nothing.

"You owe me, Falcone." His voice was low in timbre and gravelly. It sent shudders down Sakura's spine.

"I don't owe you anything," she whispered viciously, not daring to look back over her shoulder. She knew he would be gone if she did.

Batman growled to himself, eyes blazing as he followed her noiselessly. "You owe me your life," he breathed into her ear.

Sakura halted quickly, feeling herself begin to tremble. It was true; he _had_ saved her life, despite the fact she was a dangerous criminal. But again, she didn't owe him anything. "I _don't_ owe you anything," she repeated, and when she spun around, she was half-surprised to see him still standing there. "I don't owe Batman," at this she smirked, moving to her tiptoes to face him better. A cold hand rested on his shoulder, the other on his neck. With surprising strength for one of her stature, she pulled him down, as if she were kissing him.

"And I don't owe Bruce Wayne anything."

When she spoke, Bruce found himself turning to ice, his body freezing against his will, mouth flapping wordlessly. Years later, he would remember this as a turning point, when he found Sakura was smarter than she looked, and more loyal and noble then he ever thought she could be. "How could you possibly know?" he growled, knowing any denial would be worthless.

But she didn't answer the question. "I've kept it a secret, Bruce. I haven't told a soul." The woman laid a hand on her heart, and there was no smirk or mischievous glint in her eyes. "For that, you owe me."

"Then we're even."

"Yes," she clipped, sidestepping him fluidly. He didn't protest, but only laid a gloved hand on her arm.

"I still need information."

This time, she laughed. "Didn't we just go through all this?" Sakura shook her head and kept walking, "Google it, Bruce. Never fails."

"Ra's Al Ghul is alive." It was her turn to freeze up. Her heart had been calling for revenge for that night, despite the man's alleged death. "He still wants to bring Gotham down."

Finding feeling in her feet, she spun around. "How could I possibly have information on _him_?"

Bruce almost smirked. "You probably have the best access to any information at all on him. Your uncle has contact all over the world, in every shipping port from here to Hong Kong." She cocked her head, taking a step back towards him, as if to say _'And?' _"Not to mention you happen to be sleeping with the man who made that night possible."

Sakura would have slapped him if she could. "I'm _not_ spying on my- on Crane. Jonathan." Bruce smirked at her inability to define him.

"Do you want revenge?"

"Yes," she replied bluntly.

"Do you know how lucky you two were that night? What could have happened to you, to Crane?" He spat out the name like it was a bad taste.

"Yes."

"Then do it."

She crossed her arms, tapping the toe of her shoes on the cement. "I'll have to tell him. I can't do that to him without letting him know."

"You _can't_ tell him, Sakura," Bruce rumbled. "Once he knows who you're passing information to, it will never fly. And I'll bet he's still got some toxin lying around."

Her eyes darkened suddenly. "What's _that_ supposed to mean."

"Means I don't want to be near him when he finds out."

"Jonathan would never do that to me. Ever." She didn't quail when she spoke, and never doubted his words for a minute.

Bruce only shook his head. "Jonathan might not," he breathed. "But the Scarecrow certainly would."

Sakura had no answer to that. How could she? The woman had never been around when he had those fits of- of maniacal rage. Even if she was, she was sure he wouldn't _hurt _her. The man could barely hold a gun, let alone throw a punch without breaking a vase or something (this she knew from experience). "You'll know where to find me," she whispered after a moment, surprised at her own words. Betraying him would hurt more than any wound, but she needed to do this. Gotham was her home, _their_ home. And revenge is a dish best served cold.

But she was whispering to no one. Batman had gone in the midst of her long debate with herself. Despite the fact she couldn't see him, she knew he heard her. Sakura stood there for a moment before turning and setting off at a pace amazing for her shoe choice. Jonathan would suspect something if she was home late.

* * *


	3. False Pretenses

**Nothing changed here except the chapter title. Feel free to skip if you've already read.**

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**Chapter IV – False Pretenses**

* * *

Sakura's eyes flew open, pressing against the ever present darkness. Jon lay asleep next to her, his mouth open slightly, face relaxed and slack. She almost didn't want to leave. He looked so peaceful, so innocent to the world that raged around him. But she only had a small window; the four hour period between midnight and 4 a.m. when the construction workers at Wayne Manor went home. It was quite incredible; only a week and nearly half the house had been rebuilt. What unlimited funds and hundreds of men can do is staggering.

Her catlike grace was handy for other bedroom deeds, but now more than ever. Without so much as making the mattress creek, she slipped a bare leg out of the warmth of the down coverlet and into the night air. Bending at the knee, she shifted until her foot touched the floor and, balancing her weight, slid away from him without so much as a whisper of sound.

The lime green Lamborghini conspicuously sat at the gates of the manor and Sakura half-hung out the window, facing the call box. A screen imbedded in the stone of the gate blinked to life, showing the weathered and wrinkled face of Alfred.

She popped her gum loudly, making the highly proper butler wince, and smirked. "I'm here to see Wayne."

"May I ask who is calling?" he clipped, eyeing her suspiciously. Sakura opened her mouth to respond, but she heard a cough over the speaker and Bruce's voice filtered out to her.

"Let her in, Alfred," the billionaire said gently, never stepping into the view of the camera, or Sakura. She smirked; ever the elusive one, that Wayne.

Alfred sighed, scrutinizing Sakura for a moment more, and nodded slowly. "Yes, sir." The gates swung open on silent, greased hinges and Sakura revved the engine, accelerating the car. Gravel crunched under the tires as she eased on the brakes, stopping in front of the newly-erected double doors.

Inside the car, behind tinted windows, she took a deep breath and looked herself in the mirror. _Traitor_, her mind screamed. Nevertheless, she opened the door, stepping into the brisk night air, setting things in motion that would never be undone.

They sat in the formal living room, a fire crackling merrily as if it were Christmas morning. Bruce sat across from her, clad in a pressed black dress shirt and pleated khakis. He had been waiting for her and had not slept all night. There was a bottle of wine between them, to show signs of good faith, and two crystal glasses. Sakura did not wait for an invitation and downed a glass before Bruce could say hello.

"First things first-," he began, leaning forward towards her. Sakura had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Batman always had to be dramatic.

She smirked instead, mimicking his movements, "You want to know how I figured it out, how I knew who you were." He nodded his head, eyes shining in the firelight. "Well, Bruce I'm not going to tell you. Not until I know for sure."

"Know what?" he shot back.

"If I can trust you. Trust is a very precious - and rare - thing nowadays." In the back of her mind, she was taunting herself. _Hypocrite_.

Bruce couldn't help it, it just slipped out. "You're one to talk," he muttered, eyeing her darkly. Sakura's smirk faded as if it had been wiped away, and she stood quickly, fists clenching and unclenching. The knife in her boot could be in his chest in a minute. "Do it, Sakura."

She did a double-take, thinking for a moment the calm voice was the same one she always heard in her head, but on further inspection, found it was Bruce. "What?" she snapped, her hair falling into her face. "You think you're so smart, Wayne," she taunted, narrowing her eyes.

He smirked, glancing up at her from the couch. "What can I say?" His face broke into a slow grin and Sakura visibly softened. _This guy wasn't half-bad_. But the serious glint behind his eyes did not disappear, "Did you find anything?"

Sinking back into the couch, looking defeated, Sakura scoffed. "Not much," she sighed, "His phone is encrypted and I can't do much with it without him noticing. And he didn't contact Ra's through email. All I got was the shipping address of the toxin, and that was something I already had from my dock books."

"Well?" Bruce egged. She responded, going over all her careful, secretive detective work had turned up. It wasn't much, just the address of a warehouse in Hong Kong, and the complicated route the toxin took from the mountains of Mongolia to the Chinese city. However, Sakura did find out at least one thing useful.

"You've been quite diligent," he mused.

She smirked and corrected him, "I've been bored."

"Here," she added, pointing to a name underlined and circled on one of the pages of paper. "It's the owner of the ship the toxin was brought over on."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, inspecting the paper closer. "Wyatt Bradley?" he looked up and she nodded grimly. "The philanthropist?" Sakura continued to nod. They reached the conclusion together.

"A smokescreen," they said in unison.

She nodded, her smirk nearly a smile. "All those donations to the hospital, the Wayne Fund, the museums, they were all a cover. If this is true," she tapped the paper with a finger, "then he could be our best link to Ra's." In the back of her mind, Sakura applauded herself. If Wayne rose to the bait, Jonathan would be off the hook.

But he only furrowed his brow, staring hard at the paper. Something just didn't sit right with him. He glanced down at his Rolex, then at the grandfather clock ticking steadily next to the crackling fire. "You should get going. The workers will be here within the hour."

She nodded, rising from her seat again. Sakura reached for the papers, but stopped when she saw Bruce's hand clench on it. "Do you mind if, well, I could keep this for a while? I can check the sources, maybe get in contact with some friends in Hong Kong."

He saw her hesitate and all his misgivings were now without a doubt. She wasn't being honest with him; hell, he hadn't expected her to anyways. "Of course," Sakura muttered, eyes dark against the firelight. "I've got copies anyway."

"Good." Bruce stood as well, stepping around the coffee table. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, their gazes steely, before Sakura extended her hand slowly.

It was a moment to remember; a Falcone joining Batman willingly, even if under false pretenses. "I'll show you to the door," he said after another moment, but she smirked.

"Worried I might steal something?" she teased, walking out of the sitting room. Bruce followed, allowing himself a small chuckle. She really wasn't half-bad when she wasn't trying to kill you.

It was funny, but Sakura was thinking the same about him.


	4. Breaking News

**Birds of a Feather**

**VI - Breaking News**

* * *

Breakfast was normal. Jonathan had his favorite cereal, the paper and a glass of icy water. Sakura stood at the counter, attempting to make herself a waffle. But her constant jitters, the tapping of her fingers and feet, kept distracting her. It wasn't until the trash was half full with burnt waffles that Jonathan cleared his throat, the psychologist in him rearing his head.

"Too much coffee?" he mused, folding over a corner of the paper so that he could see her. She froze, her hand on the top of the closed waffle iron. It took her a moment to realize the plastic was hot and she cursed, quietly, before pulling away. He chuckled darkly. "Not enough coffee?"

She glared at him across the kitchen, the pain in her hand quite gone. Her wrist had healed nicely in the last six months.

"I'm fine, thank you," she snapped.

He casually removed his glasses, wiping them on a napkin. "Physically, yeah," he quipped. Then he looked up, his icy gaze sharp and serious. "What's up?"

She flushed and tossed another burnt waffle into the trash. "Nothing is _up_, Doctor."

"Hmm." His patients, when he had them, hated that noise. It goaded them into a break-down. Something about the neutrality of the sound rubbed them the wrong way.

But Sakura wasn't stupid, by now she knew all his tricks. "Leave work at work," she grumbled, setting in on another waffle.

He ignored her and put his glasses back. It was the equivalent of flipping the switch from Jon to Dr. Crane. "Let's see now, you didn't do your yoga this morning, you're more nervous than I've ever seen you and," he ticked them off on his fingers, "you're cooking, or at least attempting to cook, waffles." He folded the newspaper neatly, his eyes never leaving her face. "_What's wrong_?"

"Ah, the benefits of living with a psychologists!" she breezed, plastering on a smile. "Breakfast shrink sessions, free of charge!"

Jonathan bristled. He did not like being mocked. "Sakura, I'm trying to _help_ you. I know you have issues with that but-," he paused to sip at his water.

She whirled around, her perfectly-made waffle forgotten on a plate. Her eyes were shining. "I'm pregnant."

* * *

The union strike put a grinding halt on the restoration of Wayne Manor, effectively leaving the bachelor billionaire homeless, in the most lenient sense of the word. In truth he was far from it, having owned a great many properties all over the world, including a penthouse in one of the more affluent neighborhoods within downtown Gotham. The residence didn't strike his fancy; the luxury apartment was a modern creature, consisting mostly glass windows and high ceilings. Nothing classic, like his childhood home, not to mention its distinct lack of underground property for his own private use. But Wayne made due, as any billionaire would, and met very little trouble constructing a second lair for the toys that would not be at home in his expansive garage.

Close as it was to Sakura's own penthouse, Wayne's change of address created a good number of problems. For one, she usually had to find somewhere to park her brightly-colored, highly-conspicuous cars as Wayne now had no hidden driveway to speak of. And secondly, the cops took notice; Wayne was one of their more generous benefactors and his new residence within the city limits was closely watched. It wasn't Gordon's idea, of course. He could care less about the trust-fund scene, no matter where they threw their money, and Wayne easily fell into that category. His blindness, and that of the city's, still amazed Sakura.

And so a change of plan was definitely in order. They met, Wayne and Sakura, to discuss Ra's and, on occasion, Gotham's deteriorating state. In her fervor to find Ra's, Sakura seemed to be drawing back from her life of crime, a fact that greatly pleased Bruce. She wasn't all bad, deep down.

"The trail's run cold," she hissed one night, almost six months after the Arkham Breakout.

They stood in a dimly-lit parking lot, her sports car lazily parked nearby. Bruce's expression was dark, brooding. There were other things on his mind.

Sakura kicked angrily at an empty soda can, sending the piece of tin skittering across the concrete. "I won't be able to get anything else, not with Maroni calling the shots. He won't let me near the books or any kind of operation. I can barely get in on meetings anymore. Thinks he can order me around, the stupid prick."

Bruce snorted. He didn't disagree. "I don't think Ra's will cause many more problems, not now, at least. He's still licking his wounds, biding his time."

"But we shouldn't give him the time to recover!" she flared, gesturing wildly.

As always, his reply was level and controlled. "He's beyond Gotham. For now."

Her eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I care about Gotham?"

Therein was his ultimate plan. Turn Sakura. She would be a wonderful ally, with one foot on each side. Like him. She had her faults, of course; her penchant for crime, cars and all things crazy made her less than a likely candidate, but it was nothing the light couldn't handle. After all, Bruce had seen the side she kept hidden, the side that knew right from wrong and good from bad. No person with such reason could ever be entirely evil.

And she loved Crane. If only for his own sake, he had to believe that love could save a person.

"Batman?" She didn't use his name, not while he donned his disguise. He had that glazed look in his hardened eyes, the thinking look. It was often he allowed himself to drift away but it was more than interesting to watch him snap back, to see life and realization flash in his eyes.

"I've got a lot more than Ra's to worry about," he growled. From God knows where, he produced a dirty white playing card. The faded image of a joker had been stamped on both sides. "You've heard of him?"

She snatched the card from his hand and turned it over. Her brow creased. "The Joker. Yeah, I've heard of him. Petty thief, wants to move up to banks."

Bruce tipped his head, a silent question. She smirked. "I used to be a thief too, once upon a time. They're all the same."

"Not this one. I've got a bad feeling about him."

She laughed and pulled a piece of chocolate from the depths of her designer purse. In a single motion, she unwrapped the dark square and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes almost glazed in pleasure, a point Bruce did not miss. When did she start eating chocolate?

"Why won't Maroni let you in on anything?" He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Does he think you're-?"

"-Snitching?" She laughed rather loudly. "I'm the last person to rat, to you or the cops, and he knows it."

"Then why? You're one of the best he's got." Something just didn't make sense. The chocolate, Sakura being ousted...

"My condition," she snorted, rolling her eyes, "as Uncle Sal so delicately put it."

Was that concern she saw in Bruce's eyes? Yes, concern and...confusion? She giggled to herself. "Sorry, I couldn't invite you to the baby shower. No boys allowed."

* * *

Prurrpppp. He spit out his water violently. Under normal circumstances, he would have been wildly embarrassed. The once-clean breakfast table was now dripping wet, but neither parent-to-be noticed.

Sakura leaned back against the counter, her grip on the tiled edge firm. If she let go, there was no knowing what might happen. Her dark eyes never strayed, though she very much wanted to look away. It wasn't like this in the movies, when the damsel found her charming hero and told him the happy, happy news. But then, she was hardly a damsel and Jonathan was no hero.

Standing still, saying nothing, breathing easily, she had never felt such a rush of adrenaline. She had never felt so _alive_. Perhaps it was the anticipation of what Jon would say. Indeed his silence and almost comical reaction was making her a bit nervous. But maybe, just maybe, it was the knowledge of the young life within her, that she would one day be a mother.

He laid his hands flat on the tabletop, never breaking eye contact with her. The cool touch brought him back slowly, as if he were swimming through deep, dark water. He broke the surface and swallowed. His rationale returned. The baby was his, of course, or she would have no reason to be so anxious. He wasn't a threat, not to her anyways.

"How-," he began, finding it difficult to speak. She started as the sound, straightening up against the counter. "How far along are- are you?" His eyes flickered between her face and her stomach. She didn't look any different in his eyes.

The typical doctor, her Jonathan. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Three," she tried to remember what the doctor had said, "Three and a half months."

He made a small noise, like a stifled gasp. "You've seen a doctor, then?" She nodded. "Good. And you've gotten the vitamins you need?" Again, another nod. She bit her lip, surprised by his calm, almost tactical approach. "Any morning sickness?"

"Nothing I can't handle. And Dr. Grier says the worst is over." For the first time in many long minutes she looked away, down to her wringing hands. _Get a grip_, she told herself. She forced herself to meet his gaze again. This time, his blue eyes looked softer, more understanding and...hurt?

He licked his lips, almost at a loss. "You've known for some time," he mumbled, not looking for an answer. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Shame and doubt overcame her. She flushed and looked away, working hard to keep her emotions in check. Those stupid hormones were wrecking hell on her. "I- I didn't know how."

There was a screech as he pushed back his chair and then his characteristically soft footsteps; he was crossing the kitchen. She looked back up, only to find she was staring at his chest. He was just inches away now, looking down into her dark eyes. From his vantage point, he could make out the smallest of bumps protuding from her trim waistline. For the first time, he wished his hands weren't so cold.

She gasped as she felt his soft hand on her abdomen, caressing both her and what she carried there. He allowed himself a small, pointed smile.

"I suppose you don't know yet," he murmured, using his free hand to brush her hair away from her face.

Sakura would have smiled brightly at his final reaction, at his acceptance of her state, but she found herself puzzled instead. "Know what?"

He smirked and leaned down towards her. "Boy or girl?"

* * *

Bruce Wayne found himself quite speechless. She was _pregnant_. With a _baby_. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever peg Sakura for the mothering sort and yet, stranger things had happened, though not many. And she wasn't lying either; she had no reason to.

"It's Crane's?" he said, his voice more gruff than usual.

Normally, she would have bristled at the veiled insinuation but now, she simply laughed it off. "What kind of girl do you take me for?" she said with a winning smile. "I don't let just anyone knock me up."

He winced at her casual tone. "This isn't another one of your games, Sakura. This is a baby, your baby. You can't just give up when you get bored with it."

Her smile remained, though her eyes narrowed in a way that usually screamed 'danger ahead'. "You act like I planned this. Like I woke up one morning and thought, you know what'd be fun? A baby! After all, I live in the most nurturing of worlds, don't I?" Color rose in her cheeks and her smile was now gone. "I didn't ask for this to happen, _Bruce_."

"Well, every happiness to you, then," he snapped. "But I won't wish it on Crane. God knows what kind of father he'd-."

Sakura served him her meanest hook, careful to favor her stronger arm. He didn't stumble, she didn't expect him to, but he got the message. "I'll have you know, Jon's very excited. He even thinks we should move out of the city, maybe to the Palisades." She sneered at him, all while nursing her bruising knuckles. "We might even be neighbors someday."

But instead of laughing, Bruce only shook his head, partly to ridicule her, partly to chase away his dizzied state. "You know-."

She glared at him. "Don't."

"-he's still dealing his toxin."

Her eyes widened for a moment as panic gripped her. "I know," she lied, her voice oddly pitched.

Bruce pursed his lips. "I'm closing in on him. I'm going to put him away if I get the chance."

She seemed to forget her anger and for an instant, Bruce saw her for what she was. A frightened girl. "You can't," she gasped, overtaken by the notion that the father of her child might waste away in jail. "Please."

She was begging. Six months earlier, he would have laughed at the sight, but now...Now he felt pain for it. "Then stop him. Fast."

"I can't ask him to, after all I've done." She looked away, her eyes wide. Her criminal's mind was spinning, scrambling for an answer. She fell upon it soon enough and her hardened facade returned. "It's no matter. I'll make bail for him."

Bruce growled lightly as he heaved a breath, deciding to play his last card. "And make your relationship public? I assume by then you'll be showing," he nodded to her stomach, "and even the stupidest of Sal's thugs will make the connection."

She clenched her jaw. "Jonathan has enough funds squared away. And no one with notice a few extra dollars thrown in."

"You always have an answer, don't you?" he said, almost incredulous. As if on cue, a squad of police cars screamed down a nearby street, their sirens sounding into the night.

Sakura only frowned and retreated to her car. "If you're done threatening me," she muttered, wrenching open the door, "I believe you have a city to save." The door slam echoed around the empty parking lot, falling only on bat ears.

He hesitating, watching her drive away. The police could make do for a few more moments.

"Congratulations," he whispered to the night.

_**The Dark Knight**_** equals inspiration incarnate. So here I am again, hoping to find my audience once more. And I can't wait to write the Joker, as Sakura and he will surely have a few run-ins. Can't wait for feedback either, so review. And if anyone knows of a good Joker fic, point me at it!**

**REVIEWS MUCH APPRECIATED!!**


	5. Pregnant Pauses

**My only change to TDK, aside from Sakura's presence of course, is that it occurs a year after Batman Begins, not six months. Give Sakura a little time to gestate, right? So here's the clock as of now: it is now six months after Batman Begins and Sakura is three and a half months pregnant.**

**As for the Joker, he is DEFINITELY coming. Sakura just has to have the baby first or else she'd miss out on a lot of fun.**

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**VII**

* * *

She had to tell Maroni about Jonathan now, if only to avoid awkward questions later on. If he had been a blood relative, rather than her aunt's husband, it might have been more difficult to break the news about her criminal beau. He was shocked she had managed to keep something so big from the family for so long, disappointed, more for her grandmother's sake, she had conceived outside of wedlock and ultimately disgusted when he learned the identity of her child's father. Carmine would have threatened disownment, but he was verifiably crazy thanks to Crane, and Sal Maroni couldn't exactly shove her out for loving the man who brought him to power. Funny how things work out, isn't it?

But the fact remained: Crane was a wanted man, above even the worse of the crazies who had eluded capture. The cops were growing bolder, a fact attributed to Batman, and mob threats were no longer reliable. Even the citizens of Gotham had seemed to find some semblance of a spine, Sakura found, when she was forced to wait in line in Starbucks. She glowered and griped but shooting out the place for a latte didn't seem reasonable, even in her unstable, unreasonable mind. And so, she came to the conclusion that Crane would not be able to accompany her to the doctor's office for her check-ups. He was put out, naturally. Jonathan never dreamed he ever be a father and now, that the prospect had become a reality, he relished the experience. And he was a medical doctor; a second opinion never hurt.

Of all her appointments, Jonathan rued most the moment when she came home, her smile crooked with pride, her skilled hands clutching a small black and white photograph. Having just past the twenty week mark, he knew the sex of the child was discernible. _He_ wanted to know, certainly, but ultimately left the decision up to her. She was carrying the child, after all, and had only last week experienced the horror of not being able to fit into her designer jeans. She received a warning from various neighbors for noise violations and a good many dark looks in the halls. Yet another testament to the strength and courage Batman had brought the citizens of Gotham. He didn't need another outburst like that and would make due with whatever decision she made concerning the child's gender. He shouldn't have worried.

She burst through the door, moving a little faster than any pregnant woman should, waving the card-like photo around like the mad person she was. Her face threatened to split under the weight of her smile.

"Well?" he could barely keep his excitement from shaking his voice. The prospect of seeing the ultrasound, of possibly learning the sex of his child, had kept him jumpy the whole time, noticeably more so after she left for her appointment. If he squinted, he could still see the marks from his hurried pacing in the white carpet.

Sakura giggled. Her hand shook under the weight of the picture. He cocked his head. Was it tears that made her eyes shine? "I'm about to go more insane than I already am," he grumbled through his half-smile. "Now, can I get that ultrasound?"

"Sorry," she giggled and sat down next to him, an arm extended so that the photograph caught the light.

Jonathan felt his breath catch and understood a little of what all those men felt during those Lifetime made-for-TV movies. Not that he watched Lifetime. The baby was, in every sense of the word, beautiful. Even in black and white, the picture was the most brilliant thing he had ever seen. At the back of his mind, he wondered what it would be like when Sakura delivered. If he was so awestruck now, he would be a wreck, little more than a pile of mush, when he finally held his baby. Truly, the notion scared him. Criminals, crazy ones especially, weren't mush.

"No, uh," he stuttered, "No problems?"

She nuzzled into his shoulder, allowing him to take the picture from her. "Nope." She radiated happiness. "Perfect, I think, is what the guy said." Her lips grazed his neck and she relished the responding shiver. "She's perfect."

He froze beneath her, every muscle stiff. "She." It wasn't a question. "It's a girl."

She nodded. Most would think he was disappointed but Sakura knew him better. He so excited, so happy, he could barely breathe. Usually he reserved this reaction for crimes of the utmost difficulty being pulled off, or for her successful return from her more dangerous jobs. But now, she sensed it was also fear freezing his limbs. Her eyes darkened as she settled closer into his lanky body.

"I'm scared too," she muttered. Those words would only ever be heard by him.

His next breath was shaky. "We're not exactly the ideal candidates for Parents of the Year but," he took her hand in his, "we'll make it work."

"Jon," she frowned, "We're both nuts. There's no getting around it."

"Yeah but," his Lifetime knowledge was kicking in, "having children changes people. I've seen it."

She shook her head. "I really don't think a kid could turn us into Ward and June Cleaver, let alone even Marge and Homer Simpson."

"Are you questioning my professional opinion?"

"Never," she giggled, pushing herself away from him. She liked to be chased.

But she was not beyond his lengthy reached and he pulled her towards himself, all while smirking down on her. "We'll make it work," he repeated. Her laughter died mid-giggle, her face a picture of disbelief. The first step to doing was believing. "Say it."

His cold eyes had become softly menacing and she obeyed. "We'll make it work."

* * *

The next morning, the unthinkable occurred. Jon was up and out of bed before her and ready for the day before she was barely even lucid.

"Where are you off to so early, Insane Crane," she grumbled, referring to his tabloid name. "We're out of milk but I don't think the corner market sells to escaped crazies."

Her teasing didn't sting nearly so hard as it did months earlier. He had gotten used to her ways. "I have business to take care of." For all his clinical experience with criminals, allowing an unparalleled view into their psyches, he was still taken aback by her reaction.

"Oh." Her voice was small, defeated, disappointed even. She remembered what Bruce had said a few weeks back. He wanted Crane off the streets and if she couldn't do it, he certainly would. "Do you think that's...prudent?"

"What?" he asked, a picture of disbelief. "I think no smoking and no drinking has made you crazier than usual."

She frowned. "Don't remind me."

"Go back to sleep. You're tired, you don't need to wear yourself arguing needlessly with me."

He was right. Despite having just woken up, she was obviously exhausted. "Thanks, Doc." Her head fell back against the pillow and Jon smiled. For a moment he had forgotten her tenacity. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up again. "Where are you going?"

"Business." He didn't need to worry her.

She sighed and the sound was ragged with frustration. "I'm giving you the chance to tell me yourself, instead of letting me find out from someone else." She fixed him with her darkest stare, the one she reserved for straight cops and idealistic lawyers. "And I _will_ find out."

Jonathan scowled. Of the two of them, she was probably the more dangerous criminal with more experience, ability, money and so-called friends to speak of. She never let him forget it either. "I'm just swindling some dealers," he snapped, feeling like a child who'd been caught reaching into the cookie jar. "The toxin is almost chemically identical to cocaine, so I figured why not?"

She crossed her arms. 'Pissed' was too soft a word to describe her. "And whose dealers are you selling to?"

"Not yours."

"And how would you know?" she scoffed.

He shrugged, "They mostly speak Russian."

"The Chechen." Her voice fell flat. He wasn't the sanest of men but then, who was in her world? "Came here to do business with us a few years back, ended up forming his own syndicate."

"Fascinating." He sounded anything but.

"Don't get cocky, Crane," Sakura warned, her face drawn. "Just because your face is splashed across every paper doesn't mean you're something special. You're not even dangerous to people like him."

Jonathan picked up his briefcase. She knew he kept a familiar burlap sack in there. "I'll make sure to remember that," he replied, ever the sardonic doctor.

"Just stay small," she breathed, willing him to listen to her. "Don't get in with the Chechen directly. He favors dogs more than thugs."

He scoffed. "So?"

"So..." her eyes strayed to the briefcase, "Unlike CoverGirl, you don't test on animals."

* * *

_I Believe In Harvey Dent_.

The slogan made her want to scream. It really, really didn't help that every time she tuned in to _Rock of Love_, her newest pregnancy guilty pleasure, she had to suffer through his political ads. 'I'm Harvey Dent and I approve this commercial' seemed innocent enough until it branded itself into her mind. That stupid, blonde 'white knight' of Gotham was really becoming a nuisance, even more so now that, besides his office continuously calling (he thought there might be an outside chance of her testifying against Maroni), he had invaded her television, radio and even her living space. See, there was rather large, usually empty billboard splayed on the side of a neighboring building. And recently, Dent's ad people decided it would be a perfect place for a splash of red, white, blue, the annoying blonde and his even more annoying slogan.

"I'm going to call someone about that," Sakura growled. Only now did she despise her floor to ceiling windows and the view they afforded her from the couch.

"Hmm."

"What do you mean, HMM?" she wrenched her eyes from the billboard and turned to Jonathan. He sat, legs crossed, back straight, poring over some psychiatric journal, hardly paying her a lick of attention. There were dark circles under his eyes, a testament to the late nights spent hunting down whatever cravings Sakura was prone to at that particular moment.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, raising his glasses slightly. "I mean," he sighed. "I'm tired and you're ranting about a politician's billboard. It's not even worth responding to. Now I'm going to read Carl Jung in peace."

"Well, _I'm_ pregnant," she snapped, gesturing to her stomach. Now nearing six months and not at all used to the extra weight on her petite frame, she took to sitting whenever she could.

He spoke without thinking, a definite no-no in her fragile mental state. "I've noticed." Then he froze, eyes wide. "Oh, wait, I didn't mean-."

"_What_?" Her growl was primal and grating, as if the word was being dragged. Jonathan stared back at her, petrified. She huffed loudly and he flinched. "I have to pee. I'll yell at you when I get back."

* * *

At eight months, Sakura could no longer fit behind the wheel of her usual cars. The sports cars were too low for her to clamber in and out of anyways and she ended up looking like a waddling penguin doing it. So, she bit the bullet and bought an SUV. She bit the bullet further and chose a normal color, black, so she felt like every other soccer mom on the planet. Jonathan thought it was funny, until she threatened him between late-night infomercials for Ginsu knives and Magic Bullets (of which she bought two).

Two weeks into her life as an Escalade-owner, she had forty-six parking tickets and even a run-in with a meter maid. Unfortunately the police had yet to learn that the shiny black Cadillac belonged to a Falcone. Maroni took care of the the tickets of course, but it was still annoying and quite difficult for the short, exceedingly pregnant to pry the tickets from beneath the wiper of her monster car. So she nixed the Escalade and took a limousine everywhere. Sure, no parking hassle but she missed the thrill of speeding through lights and stops signs.

"Hey, I want lunch," she chirped into the limo phone.

At the wheel, the elderly driver nodded. "Where to, Miss Falcone?" But her diet, now consisting mostly of red meat, was predictable.

"Brecker," she said. Over the line, she could hear the driver laugh. "Again, I know."

"Yeah, yeah, they got good steaks."

A moment later, he had pulled up to the curb in front of the five-star steakhouse and she was out the door in an instant, waddling inside at high speeds. Her maternity wear was designer, of course, but she still felt like a frump in her Manolo pumps and diamonds. The maitre d' knew her on sight and smiled widely, a menu in hand. He waved her over to her designated table, a plush booth beneath a chandelier. With another winning smile (she wondered if the restaurant paid for his veneers), he left as soon as she was comfortable.

"You know," a familiar voice said, "You're a hard women to get in touch with."

She looked up from her menu to see Bruce Wayne sliding down next to her. Her smile was as pointed as he remembered. "Especially for a man like you."

A waitress appeared from nowhere, a talent Brecker employees prided themselves on. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne, Miss Falcone. Can I get you some drinks?"

"Oh, he's not sta-."

Bruce smirked, "Yeah, I'll have a Scotch and I can get a menu?"

"Of course, sir. And for you?" Her voice was breathy and high. Sakura would have liked nothing better than to deck her.

She chewed her lip, "Water's fine," she clipped, eager for the toothy waitress to be off. The younger girl could take a hint and sashayed away, swinging her hips in a wide motion. "You better watch out," Sakura laughed. She glanced sidelong at Bruce. "She's got eyes for you."

He shrugged and tipped his head. "It happens."

"So, playboy, any particular reason why you're sitting in my booth?"

"Well, it's _my_ restaurant," he replied, "I can sit wherever I please."

She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the waitress returning with their drinks and a menu. "Than I feel compelled to tell you that I want to kill your wait staff."

Bruce snorted into his Scotch. He didn't plan on drinking it anyways. "See, with you, I know it's not a joke."

"At least you know, but according to the papers," Sakura licked her lips, "Well, I'm not much of a threat to Gotham anymore." She gestured to her stomach, "Pregnant ladies, even pregnant Mob ladies, aren't too scary apparently."

His gaze flickered south; the table obstructed most of not-so-baby-sized bump but he could still see she was far along indeed. "You're eight, nine months?"

"Taken an interest in gynecology, Bruce? Did one of your many girlfriends finally get you in a corner?"

He laughed out loud, but shook his head. "Just curious. Is it a girl or boy?" He was surprised by her small, completely genuine smile.

"Girl," she said softly. "Actually I'm supposed to be on bed rest until I deliver but," she dipped her head, "I needed Brecker."

Bruce frowned. "Doctor's orders?"

She smirked. "Both of them." He caught the veiled reference to Crane. "But he's-," her eyes darkened, "-out."

"Did you pass along my message?" His voice took a gruff turn, not unalike to Batman.

"It's small potatoes, I promise. Nothing someone like you needs to get all," she lowered her voice, "batty about."

"Sakura, he's a wanted man. He needs to answer for everything he's done, for the damage he's caused."

Her anger flared. "And what about everything _you've_ done, all the damage _you've_ caused?"

He sat back against the booth, fixing her with a stare that could level the hardest of criminals. She didn't quail under his gaze. Instead she barely moved. Only her nostrils flared as she took deeper, longer breaths. Then her body lurched and she curled over, her eyes glazing in pain. "Bruce," she breathed. Her hand jerked, sending her water glass crashing to the floor. Over the general din of the restaurant, the tinkling could barely be heard. A flip switched in the young billionaire and he quickly became the picture of calm and collected.

"Sakura, breathe," he commanded. Too distracted to object to his tone, she simply obeyed and snatched at his hand. Her grip was strong still, but weaker than he expected. Her months of rest had resulted in a weakness she hated more than her new weight. "Come on, come on, we've got to get you to a hospital."

She nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet. "Thank you," she said, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

Whoever said childbirth was magical deserved to be disemboweled.

* * *

**Reviews would be amazing!**


	6. How Bruce Wayne Made Himself Useful

**Clock: Sakura is eight months pregnant, four months to go before TDK. Don't worry, they'll go quick. **

**Big, big thanks to my reviewers! You guys are great!! It's awesome to hear from you so keep 'em coming! As for baby names...you guys are tenacious, man. Hee hee, all in good time, all in good time. And for everyone returning after my years and months of hiatus, thanks for sticking through and coming back. Jon and Sakura say thank you, in their own really twisted way (meaning that it probably involves some toxins or explosives). **

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**VIII - How Bruce Wayne Made Himself Useful**

* * *

Bruce didn't wait for an ambulance and had his car, another Lamborghini, pulled around in seconds. It seemed she was fighting back all her stubborn independence, her God-given self-reliance to let him, of all people, help her in the slightest. And help he did.

The car was a bad idea from the start, being so low and cramped. But it was fast and recognized, pros that at the very least balanced the cons. Someone inside the restaurant must have called a few tabloids about the peculiar pair lunching in a private booth because, as Bruce found, nearly a dozen different periodicals crowded the street outside. Photographers flashed lights in their faces, reporters screamed questions, as he half-dragged her towards the idling car. He felt her stiffen with anger and pain, but kept his grip firm. He didn't need her gunning down a few paparazzi in her growing rage.

She wouldn't go to Gotham General, he knew that. No one with money did, thanks to the long wait times and overworked doctors. Thankfully Elms Elder, a private hospital that catered especially to the wealthy elite like themselves, was only a few blocks up the street and it was green lights all the way.

"We're almost there, Sakura," he said. She kept his hand in hers, squeezing with every contraction, not bothering to look up at the traffic. The car swerved and she knew he was doing his best, with all his vigilante skill, to dodge cars and pedestrians alike. Bruce spun the wheel, deftly navigating the streets of Gotham one-handed. "Keep breathing, we're almost there."

She obeyed, responding only with a pained nod. Another contraction rolled through her, making her convulse and squirm in the seat. "These are-," she panted, finding it difficult to talk, "These are pretty bad."

"It's alright, we're almost there." Bruce didn't even want to think about the implications of what she was saying. He knew her, hell he'd even fought her, and never once did he think labor pains would give her any trouble. She'd been able to bite her lip and laugh through the worst of injuries but this, this was giving her very real trouble.

"You have to call-," she gasped in pain, "-call Jonathan. He can't come but-," another gasp, "-but he needs to know. I'm not due for another month." With a great amount of difficulty she leaned to reach into her purse and replaced her hand in Bruce's with a cell phone. His stony expression cracked. "Just press one."

On any other day, for any other reason, Bruce would have thrown the phone from the car. But today, he did as he was told.

The phone rang once before _he _picked up. In a split-second, Bruce remembered he'd been photographed with her moments ago. He couldn't pretend to be Batman now.

"Sakura?" There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

Bruce regained his composure quickly. "This is Bruce Wayne."

Jonathan would have hung up, but something in the background, a strangled cry or yelp, kept him listening. "What the-?"

"I met Sakura Falcone for lunch today," Bruce continued, ignoring Jonathan's calm interjections. "I'm bringing her to the hospital now, she's in labor, and she told me to call this number and let whoever you are know that." Next to him Sakura nodded her head in appreciation; Bruce was playing every card correctly.

"Labor? She's only eight months-," he interrupted himself, clearing his throat. The change in tone from concerned to cool was instantaneous. "Take her to Elms Elder, ask for Dr. Grier. I'll inform her family."

Bruce and Jonathan hung up in unison, neither even getting the chance to realize the other was already gone. "He's calling your family. Said to get Dr. Grier when we get there."

Sakura nodded, her eyes almost glazing over with joy at the sight of Elms Elder Hospital coming up on the right. "You don't have to stay. The papers will think-."

"I'll stay until someone comes for you." He spoke with finality, as usual. And, as usual, there was no use arguing.

* * *

Why Sakura was with Bruce Wayne was the least of his worries. Why Sakura was out and about when both she was on bed rest didn't matter. And the fact that he couldn't be there to watch didn't faze him. All he could dwell on, the only thing he could wrap his twisted mind around, was at that very moment, across the city, the only two people who would ever matter to him were in very real danger. He ignored his buyers and snapped his briefcase shut, plummeting his devious white powder into its usual darkness. Without a word, he stood up from the dirty desk in a dirtier warehouse and trotted off, leaving thugs and buyers alike scratching their heads.

He drove one-handed, keeping a firm grip on wheel and cell-phone alike as he attempted to race through the streets. Attempted because a garbage truck had overturned across Avenue X, backing up traffic for blocks, making it near impossible for Jonathan to move any faster than the average snail. For a few minutes, he completely understood Sakura's usual road rage and fought the urge to lay on the horn and scream obscenities from the window. It wouldn't do any good, he told himself. He had nowhere to go and nothing to do until someone, _anyone_, called to update him. Until then, he could only wait in traffic with only his mind for comfort.

He hadn't heard from Scarecrow in a while. Things had been too hectic lately; he barely had room in his mind for himself let alone his maniacal alter-ego. So that cold, unfeeling drawl that sounded from the darkest pit of his soul came as quite a shock to poor, frenzied Dr. Jonathan Crane.

_It's alive. It's alive!_

The voice mocked him, playing on his worst fears.

_You've just created a monster, you know. _

He didn't need this. Not now. Any other time, Jonathan would have been happy to indulge his dark side, to wallow in the sadistic fantasies he long since pushed aside for his ladies. Now, he only tightened his grip on the cellphone, his link to Sakura and their unborn child.

_She'll be like her. And you. The very best and the very worst of you both. Can you even imagine it?_

Scarecrow laughed. The heartless sound echoed longer than it should have, bouncing about the recesses of his mind. He ignored it and urged the car forward a few feet. Up ahead, the turned truck came into view. Just a few more minutes...

_Smart, like us. Strong, like her. And hopelessly, deliciously dark to her very core. The perfect evil._

He tried to will the voice away, the push the Scarecrow back into the cave from whence he came. It was a hopeless battle and Jonathan was losing ground fast.

_I wonder...will she have our eyes? _

The thought was neutral, almost innocent. He froze, knowing that he had wondered as well, many times. But his logical side knew, as any high school biology student familiar with a Punnet Square would, that it was virtually impossible. Eyes like his were rare at best and not easily passed along.

_I can't wait to meet her, our black princess of Gotham._

"Stay away from her," Jonathan heard himself snarl. Until now, he would have never pegged himself as the defensive type. He was too used to Sakura, to her stubborn, capable nature, to remember that he would soon become a protector, a guardian of sorts, to their child. "I'll make you stay away."

_Oh, I'll stay away...as long as you can._

Even after years of sharing a head, Jonathan still couldn't get used to Scarecrow's condescending laughter.

* * *

One hour later, the phone rang. For a moment, he could only stare, glued to his favorite armchair. What if it was bad news? Did he want to pick up the phone and leave his protective cocoon of silence and thought? It was a question he didn't bother answering.

"What's happening?" No time for pleasantries.

Salvatore Maroni scoffed on the other end. He wasn't used to disrespect, but this wasn't the time for grudges. "She's definitely in labor."

Jonathan exhaled slowly, understanding the repercussions. The baby would be born prematurely but, thankfully, not by much. "And the baby?"

"Doctors say everything is fine. Heart rate's a little fast, but nothing to be worried about." Of course, Jonathan would worry all night if he had to. "But there is a bit of a problem with, uh, delivery."

Of course. Karma all but demanded a problem.

But he'd been expecting this. Sakura was petite, one of the reasons for her so-called bed rest, and the doctors doubted her ability to deliver unaided. "The want to do a Caesarean," he breathed, running a hand through his dark hair. By the end of the night, he was sure to have some grays.

There was a pause as Maroni deciphered the medical lingo. "C-section, yeah. The doctors say it's routine, and the safest way for her but-."

"She wanted me to know."

"Yeah."

He licked his lips, which he suddenly realized were all but cracked. "Can I speak to her?"

There was mumbling, impossible to understand. Maroni had covered the mouthpiece, all but cutting off Jonathan from any noise at all. His voice returned, abrupt and almost annoyed. "Nurse says she's got a few hours until they go in. She wouldn't take the pain drugs though, so don't take anything she says personal."

"I never do."

The earpiece crackled as Maroni's cellphone changed hands. "Jon?" Her voice seemed normal, if only slightly pained. But he knew better. She was a proverbial rock when it came to physical pain; he must have caught mid-contraction.

"Don't talk until you're through it. Just work on breathing." He expected her to argue, to snap at him for daring to command her, but she did neither. There was silence, broken only by her raspy, gasping breaths. "Breathe, baby," he hissed, willing her through it. "Breathe."

She nodded in response, forgetting he was not there with her. Only then did she sorely regret his fugitive state; what she wouldn't give to crush his hand in hers. "I'm almost through," she winced and gasped again.

"Just a few more seconds," he breathed, doing his best to sound soothing.

Then she exhaled loudly. "There. Done." Like it was a test to be finished, some race to be run. Relief flooded his mind. "You heard about the C-section?"

"Yeah." He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the awkward lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, but it's the safest way to get her out."

She shrugged. "I don't mind. I can handle knives." Her tone was flippant, cavalier, the usual. "It's these damn contractions getting to me."

"You should have stayed home." It had taken him a while to refer to the apartment as such, but now it came almost naturally. As did his annoyance at her disregard for all things medical.

"The same can be said of you," she snapped in response.

He sighed aloud. "Not now, Sakura."

"No time like the present!" Her sarcastic chirp made it almost impossible to believe that, moments before, she had been gasping in pain. He responded with silence, an approach Sakura very much disliked. "Fine, then later. But don't expect me to forget because of this whole baby thing."

In spite of himself, Jonathan smiled. "Decided on a name, yet?"

"Nothing Japanese."

"Agreed."

"And probably not a family name, either. There's enough Maria Falcone's running around." They laughed in unison. "I want her to have my initials."

Jonathan smirked. "So 'S' names?"

"Yes. At least we know that. As for middle names, we've got plenty of-," she cut herself off, drawing a long, uneven breath.

"Sakura? Just breathe-."

"Not-," she choked, almost dropping the phone. He could hear as fast, ominous beeping of machines that had not been present a moment ago. "-a contraction."

The line went dead with a snapping sound. Someone had taken the phone from her.

His body felt numb. Not even Scarecrow dared speak. And Jonathan could've sworn to high heaven he felt his heart stop beating.

At first, he couldn't think. The doctor was scared shitless, for Sakura and the baby, and could hardly move let alone dream up some answer to explain what had happened. He could only stare at the clock, watching the minutes pass. The tick-tock usually set him on edge but now it was oddly comforting, a reminder that time _was_ passing, that soon he would know their fate.

Twenty-nine minutes and thirteen seconds later, the phone rang again. Hands shaking, Jonathan forced himself to answer. Sal didn't wait for a greeting.

"She's through." He sounded happy. A very good sign. "They got her out."

"They're- they're alright?"

He could hear a door opening and then the distorted sound of the phone being shaken. "Here-," Sal's voice crackled, "She's grabbing the-."

"Jon?" She was breathless, as was he.

He slumped back against his chair, thinking for all the world that his limbs had been replaced with jelly. "That was the most horrible half an hour of my life." Then he winced. Him and his mouth.

"Well, how do you think I've been?" But she wasn't angry. Instead, she laughed. It seemed motherhood agreed with her.

"How is she?" Her heart nearly broke at his newfound tenderness. With every fiber of her being, she fought the urge to cry.

"She's perfect."

* * *

**Well done, cast! A brilliant performance by the ensemble! But don't worry audience, they're just getting warmed up! Reviews of all shapes and degrees of fire welcome!**


	7. Not So Respectable Publications

**Birds of a Feather**

**IX - Not So Respectable Publications And The Problems They Cause**

* * *

Crane waited for the cover of darkness; it wouldn't do either of them much good for him to be arrested visiting Elms Elder's most infamous patient. The hours passed slowly and, despite Sakura's phone calls assuring him that night would come soon enough, he doubted that the sun had moved at all since noon. Only when the sky burned with the fire of sunset did he truly allow himself to relax. Even Scarecrow, tucked away into the corners of his mind, afforded him some peace and calm.

He knew he'd get worked up all through the big day, but this was downright insanity. The usually still and calculating Crane had become a bundle of nerves, jittering with every tick of the clock. When twilight fell, it took all his willpower not to leap into the elevator; he was a dangerous fugitive and he needed complete darkness, not just thin shadows, for his trek out into the city. The clock struck nine with the finality of the executioner's ax, sending a shudder of excitement through his body. And then the phone rang. In his sensitive state, Jonathan nearly fell over at the shrill noise.

"You can't leave just yet."

By now, he recongized Maroni's voice quite easily.

"And why the hell not?"

Maroni scoffed. "Kid, I'm giving you a pass today, but don't push it." He didn't expect an apology and didn't wait for one. "Now, go to the window."

"Alright." Jonathan's tone turned impatient; he didn't have time for this.

"Look down."

Even from his great height, he could see the teems of reporters swarming around the entrance of the building. There were sporadic bursts of tiny flashes, like lightning. Photographers. "Shit."

"Yeah. Must be a slow day, because every station's got a reporter down there for the nine o'clock news." Jonathan could hear the smirk in Maroni's voice. "Now you're the most wanted man in Gotham for two reasons."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me. So how am I getting out of here?"

"My advice is to stay put, but-."

Jonathan sighed, though the sound was more alike to a growl. "On any other day, I might agree with you."

"-But I knew you wouldn't like that. And Kura would have my head."

The doctor chuckled, at both the notion and the nickname. "So, how am I getting out of here?"

"Service entrance. I've got an unmarked Town Car waiting in the service garage. No reporters, no photographers, no news crews."

"And what about the hospital? I imagine it's worse over there."

Maroni guffawed loudly. "This ain't Elms' first rodeo. They got precedents for celebrity stuff like this. Trust me, getting out of the apartment building will be the hard part."

"Good. I-," Jonathan hesitated, the words tasting sour in his mouth. "I owe you one."

"You don't owe me nothing, kid. Like it or not, you're just about family now."

He didn't really know how to respond. "Right."

"And don't take any chances, Crane. Get a hat, sunglasses, the works. Just in case."

"Right," he said again.

Maroni could hear the disbelief in the doctor's voice. "Lighten up, kid. This is what we do," he cracked, before hanging up.

Entering the elevator, Jonathan Crane frowned as he adjusted his sunglasses. He was not a 'kid'. Even if he was wearing a Gotham Goliaths baseball cap.

True to Maroni's word, a black car idled in the service garage, parked between a maid service van and gardener's pick-up. The dark of the sublevel complex, paired with his shaded glasses, made it near impossible to see, but Jonathan managed alright.

"Hop on in, Mr. Smith," the driver said, his voice thick with a typical mafioso accent. Jonathan did so, springing quickly into the leather backseat. They were off in a flash, careening up the service ramp to the street. Jonathan ducked his head, just in case, but his identity was more than safe behind the almost black glass. Only a few photographers and a single reporter with her crew crowded the back sidewalk; needless to say they had more than a few stories to bring back to their bosses. But the driver was slick, turning the corner without slowing, affording them only a few photos of the black car before it cornered again, speeding out of sight.

Elms Elder was cross-town, in the high-end commercial district, but the car was fast and handled easily. The driver was at least careful, or instructed to be; he observed every rule of the road, never giving a cop a reason to follow. It slowed things down but, in the long run, was worth the effort. He didn't slow as they passed the hospital front and Jonathan stared, slack-jawed, at the media circus outside. Reporters, news crews and paparazzi all fought for the best positions. People were being interviewed on the sidewalk and at least three stations were on air, providing their shows with live feeds. GCN had the largest set-up of all, with Mike Engel headlining in the place of honor by the entrance.

"Obsessed," Jonathan breathed, almost pitying them. Then he glanced at the driver, "There's a private entrance, right?"

"Yep. Up around the block. It's between the Gucci store and some spa." He deftly spun the wheel, sliding up along the curb. "Right here, matter of fact. Keep ya head down, Smith." Jonathan nodded and clambered from the car. He realized his hands were shaking.

Indeed, there was a door, stylish but unassuming, made of fogged glass and polished silver. As he approached, Jonathan wondered if it would be open at all, or if he would be stuck pulling at a locked door all night. It swung open on silent, greased hinges that flooded him with relief. There was a small marble antechamber, complete with a guard and a receptionist, both of whom averted their eyes. The more they saw, the more they knew, and then the less their lives were worth.

"Welcome to Elms Elder Hospital, Mr. Smith," the receptionist said, her voice quiet and eyes downcast. She pushed a button and the door beside her swung open, again silent in its motion. Behind it lay a long hall, bright with clouded marble and silver light fixtures. Jonathan pressed on, his pace brisk, and found the hall sloped downwards; the hall was a tunnel, running below the shops and street to the hospital. It ended at an elevator.

He smirked to himself, trying to dream up what precedence required such secrecy. "Thank God for Brangelina."

As before, the elevator attendant had been alerted to his arrival and greeted him as the others had. "Mr. Smith," he murmured, tipping his hat in greeting. Still, Jonathan remained silent, content to hide behind his hat and glasses. The attendant kept his eyes forward and punched the single button on the elevator wall, reading _P_. Private. The ascent was blissfully swift, as the elevator had been constructed strictly for such private use. With a light ding, the doors slid apart, revealing a plush, warmly-lit hallway more suited to luxurious apartment building rather than a hospital.

The wall opposite held a single set of French doors, made of fogged glass and mahogany, flanked by Maroni's burly men. They stared straight ahead, not even acknowledging Jonathan's presence. Even if they'd been hostile, Jonathan doubted they could stop him now that he was so close. He stepped forward, ignoring the elevator attendant's good-bye, and pushed open the door with quivering hands and a pounding heart.

"Nice of you to drop by." Sakura smirked up at him from the large, white bed. Her face was pale, drawn, but she was glowing, her eyes alight with pleasure.

Jonathan felt his insides turn to ice as his eyes dropped from her face to the bundle in her thin arms. She smiled, the action proud and genuine. "Well, don't just stand there, Daddy," she purred, pulling the baby closer, "Come say hello."

His limbs felt foreign and he nearly stumbled his way to her side. He caught himself in time and precariously lowered himself down next to her, not so mean a feat whilst his eyes were drawn elsewhere. He stared, for lack of a better word, like a man bewitched. In essence, he probably was.

The girl was small and soft, made even more so by her fluffy pink attire. She was nearly hairless, with only the smallest hint of black fuzz crowning her round head. Her features were neutral, but he recognized Sakura's full lips. She yawned in her sleep, exposing empty gums. In spite of himself, Jonathan knew then he was a goner.

"God," he breathed, raising a hesitant hand to her cheek. Her skin was warm and smoother than the sweetest velvet; heaven to the touch.

Sakura bit her lip, unable to speech. Jonathan never really was one for tenderness or love yet here he was, melting at simply the sight of their baby. "Hold her," she whispered, edging the child closer to her father. He didn't need to be told twice and took the baby girl from her mother, moving so slowly he might have been made of stone.

She fit easily into his arms and he supported her head with a gingerness Sakura didn't know the clumsy Crane was capable of. "Hey there," he murmured, "Hey there, baby." Again, the girl yawned. Jonathan felt his breath catch. The baby stirred, squirming gently in his arms until she woke, her eyes blinking quickly in the light. And then her father gasped aloud, "You- you didn't tell me-."

Sakura smiled, letting her exhausted self fall back against the soft pillows. "I thought you'd want to see for yourself."

His smile was wide, reverent and recklessly happy, as if he were looking upon a goddess rather than his daughter. She stared back at him, her eyes wide, vibrant, an icy and familiar blue.

"That's your Daddy, Saffron."

* * *

Usually, Alfred never bothered Master Wayne with the tabloids. Usually, the tabloids never bothered the butler. And usually the tabloids knew better than to bother Mr. Bruce Wayne at home. But all things normal, usual or ordinary had been tossed out the window when a few lucky photographers snapped the photos of their lives outside Brecker.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred hated to wake him, especially since Bruce had been having such trouble sleeping lately. "Master Wayne?"

It didn't take much to wake Bruce; he was a light sleeper at best, even after a night of crime-fighting. "What is it Alfred?"

"Well, sir..." Bruce frowned, easily picking up on the butler's veiled hesitation. "Sir, it's the tabloids." Alfred held out his customary tray, set with breakfast and a small selection of grocery store magazines.

Bruce smirked, reaching for a glass of orange juice. He ignored the brightly colored tabloids. "Still going on about that model? It was one date and it was two months ago."

But Alfred did not withdraw his tray, "I'm afraid not, sir."

"Please, Alfred, it can't be that bad," he muttered, reaching for the first magazine. His eyes, skeptic a moment before, widened when they fell upon the headlines.

A photo of himself and Sakura, rushing from Brecker, stared up at him from beneath a blazing, hot pink title: _Prince of Gotham and Princess of Crime_.

"Whoa!" he chuckled, almost laughing at loud at the tabloid's accusations and Alfred's expression alike. "That's a new one. They must have run out of socialites to tie me to."

The butler was less than amused. "Indeed, sir. I assume you're going to want to call the lawyers."

"Lawyers?" Bruce gulped at his orange juice. "It's just one tabloid. It's nothing."

Alfred only sighed in his loud, disparaging manner. He disappeared with ease, as butlers were wont to do, and returned just as quickly, his arms filled with different newspapers. "One tabloid, I can live with." He stopped at the foot of the bed and allowed the varied periodicals to cascade onto the down comforter. "But all of them?" He gestured to the tabloids, magazines and newspapers in the impressive pile. "I don't even want to think about the internet."

"Well." Bruce took a moment to gather his thoughts. His cavalier attitude concerning his own reputation prevailed. "I must say, these guys work fast." Alfred frowned, his wrinkled mouth crumpling into his patented, disapproving grimace. "I guess it can't hurt to take a quick peek at the, uh, articles."

His butler nodded, his movements curt as he handed Bruce a newspaper, the Gotham Times. "Even the most respectable of publications couldn't stay away from you two."

"It's not often I make the Times," he said with a smirk, "for my _social_ agenda, at least."

Alfred remained unamused. "Just read it, sir."

"If you insist."

_Usually an afternoon lunch at Brecker Steakhouse & Spirits includes five star service, mouthwatering steaks and a three figure check. Yesterday, however, patrons complimented their meals with a glimpse of none other than Gotham's most coveted bachelor, billionaire and notorious playboy Bruce Wayne, lunching with the most unlikely of characters: Sakura Falcone, niece of jailed crime boss Carmine Falcone, and heir apparent to the Falcone crime family. Falcone, 26, and Wayne, 31, have never been photographed together prior to yesterday, a fact made all the more interesting by Wayne's efforts to keep himself clean from most, if not all, criminal ties. Nonetheless, most criminal experts would agree that Ms. Falcone poses little, if no threat to Gotham. In fact, Commissioner Loeb stated only recently that "Sakura Falcone was little more than a diversion to distract from the Falcones' illegal dealings...and (the police) are in the process of removing her from the criminal watch list."_

_According to Gotham Daily's Falcone Clock (unofficial), Falcone is approximately eight months pregnant. Despite the efforts of reporters and paparazzi alike, the paternity of the child, as well as the sex, is unknown. Ms. Falcone has, on multiple occasions, declined to comment on her pregnancy and has yet to officially confirm she is, in fact, with child. However, photos taken over several months time (p. 6) show irrefutable evidence concerning her condition. _

_Waiters and patrons alike agreed that the pair appeared quite cozy as they spoke over drinks. According to one server, who preferred to remain anonymous, both were "laughing and joking" for the first few minutes before the conversation soured into a "whispered argument". The exchange lasted a few minutes before Wayne quickly escorted Falcone from the restaurant. She "appeared to be in great pain" and Wayne "held her arm, supporting her all the way to the door". The maitre d' offered to call an ambulance for Falcone but Wayne declined, opting instead to "drive her himself". It appears, from the witness' account, that Falcone and Wayne's argument induced early labor. _

_Photos taken at the scene (p. 6) reveal Wayne and Falcone leaving in a black Lamborghini, presumably belonging to Wayne, only to arrive at Elms Elder Hospital a few minutes later. According to reports, Falcone checked into Elms' renowned maternity ward with Wayne at her side. Various family members, including new Falcone boss Salvatore Maroni, arrived within the hour. Maroni married into the Falcone family twenty-two years ago when he wed Carmine Falcone's sister, Adrianna. There are no reports of Wayne or Falcone leaving Elms Elder Hospital, but Maroni was spotted exiting the facility from a private entrance three hours after he arrived. _

_Neither party has contacted the press concerning their relationship or Falcone's current condition. The Times can neither confirm nor deny that Sakura Falcone was or currently in labor, or that Bruce Wayne has any claim whatsoever over the child. However, undisclosed sources close to the pair state that "both Sakura and Bruce have been meeting for quite some time and it's very likely that Bruce has fathered (Falcone's) child". _

_No further details were available at press time._

"Well." Bruce coughed. He didn't know what to think. "Well."

Alfred nodded. "Indeed. One can only hope Miss Falcone reacts as calmly as you."

"Only can only hope," Bruce echoed, throwing down the paper. "You know what, Alfred, I think I will call those lawyers."


	8. Their Deals With The Devil

**Okay so basically everyone, myself included, has been waiting with baited breath for the Joker to make his first appearance. Well I'm going to throw a bone to you...HERE. WE. GO!**

**Clock: Beginning of TDK.** **ROCK THAT!**

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**X - Their Deals With The Devil**

* * *

Four months. Four long months, filled with late nights, lawsuits and tabloid dodging. Four exhausting months, marked by press conferences, relentless exercise and snooping reporters. Four months, horrendous by any normal measure, and Sakura Falcone couldn't help but smile her brightest, laugh her loudest and spoil her daughter senseless. Jonathan didn't have the heart to stop her, even taking a rather large part in decorating the nursery of their new house. Well, technically the house was Sakura's, it was her name on the deed and her signature on the dotted line, but he still felt comfortable calling it home. He was no longer just her boyfriend, bed-buddy, roommate or whatever they might call it; he was the father of her child. Their bond was one of blood, a tie not easily broken. And neither would have it any other way.

The tabloid frenzy became the straw that broke the camel's back. Continuing life in the city was no longer an option, not if Jonathan wanted to remain hidden from prying eyes and flashing cameras. And they wouldn't have their daughter brought up like that, permanently shadowed by those human hunters. Sakura knew the spotlight well and wouldn't let her daughter be blinded by it.

As if by magic, a modest estate in the Palisades went on the market two weeks after Saffron's birth. Six bedrooms, eight baths, fully furnished with a gourmet kitchen, not to mention well-kept grounds and a particularly nasty fence. The realtor tacked up a red 'SOLD' sign the morning after she listed the property. The neighbors, a Fortune 500 CEO and a few trust-fund babies, liked their privacy as much as Sakura and Jon; they didn't throw a barbecue or send baked goods. Their move was quiet, without news coverage, and surprisingly easy. Within a month Sakura had the house furnished, complete with a security system to rival Bank of Gotham. But only when the nursery was finished, when Saffron was sleeping soundly in her crib, when she and Jon fell back into their large bed, exhausted, did she truly feel at home.

And with that sense of peace came that familiar nagging at the back of her brain. It pulled and tugged, eluding sleep, dragging her through her memories of her past excitements, of crimes and exploits committed with nothing but that familiar rush of adrenaline for company. She knew she shouldn't miss it, she shouldn't want that danger again but to deny her urges would be to deny herself, a sin she could never force herself to commit. And not Jonathan, not even Saffron, could keep her from one more hit to keep her going. Addiction always was her greatest vice.

The next morning, she called Uncle Sal. Sakura Falcone wanted back in.

* * *

He didn't want to leave them, but business called. Sakura grew tenser with every passing day, her muscles curling like a coil. He pitied whoever might be around when she snapped. Cabin fever, he decided. No one like her could go for months cooped up with no one but a baby and the help for company and not go crazy, well, crazi_er_. As a psychologist, it was his job to help her through and as her lover, it was, at the very least, his duty. But again, business called. Jonathan Crane couldn't keep the Chechen waiting for long.

She begrudged him his relative freedom. Despite his fugitive state, she held to the ideal that he got out more than she did. In truth, if one didn't count shopping trips, court dates or press interviews, Sakura had become quite the homebody. Unlike Jonathan, she didn't have any responsibilities outside the house and therefore no excuse to slip out before midnight.

Through the darkness, he couldn't see her frown but he knew all the same. Before she could open her mouth to argue, he was playing his trump card. "I can't stand up the Chechen, can I?"

"Cheater," she grumbled, disappointed both in the lack of confrontation and her significant other's business dealings. But she couldn't control him anymore than she could herself, a battle she knew was soon to be lost.

Two hours later, Jonathan was losing a battle himself. Beneath his burlap sack, his eyes were wide, unblinking, as he screeched through the parking structure. Long months spent watching Sakura drive had taught him a few things. Unfortunately, bat-dodging was never on the roster. Batman, the relentless crusader, had him by the balls. He was red-handed; it would be jail for him.

If only the Batman could've afforded his old adversary a little dignity. Being tied between a pair of vigilante-wannabe's was a fate worse than jury duty, especially since they both insisted on whining.

"We're just trying to help you!" one wheedled, his voice quite high for a man of his size. Castration, perhaps?

As usual, the Batman was in sore need of a cough drop. "I don't need help," he rasped, turning back to his mobile monstrosity.

Crane couldn't help it. He owed the do-gooder at least one little quip, for old times' sake. "Not my diagnosis," he laughed, allowing himself to smirk darkly.

But the Batman didn't bite; he was beyond Jonathan Crane's goading.

Crane's bemused facade faded as he watched the Batman disappear, only to be supplemented by flashing police lights. "Shit."

Sakura was going to kill him.

* * *

Fifty-seven minutes and a few new bruises later, Crane was reluctantly allowed his phone call.

She was awake, trying to lull the baby back to sleep, when the secure phone line rang. "Oh, you're in troubleee," she hissed to no one in particular, picking up the phone with one hand while soothing Saffron in the other. The shrill ring had not agreed with her. Jonathan didn't give her a chance to speak, lest the police's newfangled voice recognition software kick in.

"I'm in jail. They're taking me to County to wait for my arraignment. I'm going to need a good lawyer." He was precise, saying exactly what needed to be said: someone was listening in, of course. "Don't visit." In other words, my cover's blown but don't fuck with yours.

He hung up, as did she, though her movements were a bit slower than normal. Well, she knew this would happen eventually. Bruce had warned her and she warned Jonathan, but the toxin-peddling crazy had practically gift-wrapped himself. C'est la vie.

Despite the hour, Sakura had no qualms phoning Bruce Wayne. It wasn't like he was asleep or anything.

"What?" he rasped. So he was still out jumping rooftops.

"You know what," she snapped, eager to get things moving.

"Oh." Recognition seeped into his voice. "I warned you."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky it's late and I'm in no mood to tear you a new one. So, here's the deal-."

"No deal. He's with the police now, I can't do anything about it."

"Just listen, is that so hard?" she shifted her weight, letting Saffron snuggle into her. "I need you to move up Jon's arraignment."

Something screeched, probably his tank lurching into a wall. "And how am I supposed to do that? I don't think I fit well in a judge's chambers."

She rolled her eyes, impatient now. "Before you get smart with me, wizen up. Who do you think will try his case?" It was a rhetorical question. "That's right, Harvey Dent will be all over it. But DA's don't exactly sweat the little stuff, like the arraignments, right?" He groaned aloud; he knew where she was going. "Getting it now, aren't you? Dent's going to leave it to his assistant DA, who happens to be a good friend of yours. Am I right?"

"She'll never, NEVER, help either of you."

Sakura ignored him. "They know I'll make bail for him, so they're going to draw this out, let him rot in prison for as long as they can. I need you to make sure that doesn't happen."

"And why would I do that? I don't exactly see anything in this for me, let alone Gotham!"

"Ugh," she scoffed, "You and your ideals." Then she sighed, "Fine, I've got a meeting tomorrow with the bosses. If I get you something good, some information, can you get me want I want?"

He didn't do this. He didn't make deals with criminals. "If it's good."

"Done."

"But you have to promise me you'll keep him in line." There was a hard edge to his voice, deeper than his signature rasp. "No more fear toxin."

She smirked. "I'll do my best."

* * *

When Uncle Sal said she was going to a meeting, she never once imagined this. A restaurant kitchen, complete with grease and rats, and a few fold-out tables in an attempt to create something official. No air conditioning, no windows; all in all, a very stuffy situation, made all the more uncomfortable by the fiends staring her down. Sakura was the only woman present and therefore seen as the weakest of Maroni's entourage. Well, if they were doing anything of much use, she'd show them exactly how weak _they_ were in comparison. But they weren't doing anything of use, by her account. Just blathering on about the robbery at one of their banks and the idiot who'd been stupid enough to steal from them. Some clown-faced fool.

"He's nothing," Maroni said, shrugging his wide shoulders. "Problem is our money being tracked by the cops."

Sakura leaned back in her chair, ready to collapse in her boredom. She had begged, begged to be able to tag along. It would be her first meeting in months and she needed a little excitement to spice up the drab day-to-day of motherhood. But this was nothing but talk, talk, talk about money and business. She probably could've found more excitement on HBO. Tipping her head back, she stared at the kitchen ceiling, trying to imagine patterns in the slab work. _You wanted to come_, she reminded herself. With a great deal of reluctance and much to her uncle's pleasing, she straightened back up and pretended to pay attention, though truthfully, almost everything said fell on deaf ears. But she kept up appearances well. After all, she didn't need to give anyone at the table more reason to doubt her competency. Her gender was already strike one.

But she did catch the snivelling Chinese man's last words. "Rest assured," he purred, his voice like nails on a blackboard. "Your money is safe."

And then, unfamiliar, chilling laughter. It echoed around the kitchen, almost never-ending, as the strangest definition of man stepped out of the shadow of a large stove. His jacket was purple, violently clashing with the steel appliances and cheesy, designer suits. And his face, his face painted stark white and black and red, made her sit up even straighter. This man was the bank robber her uncle described, but he was certainly not nothing. Crazy, yeah, but still a lot more than nothing. This guy was insanity incarnate; just what the doctor ordered.

"And I thought my jokes were bad," he said, coming to a halt at the head of the makeshift conference table. His eyes were just as dark as his war paint, making him all the more sinister as he glared at the people before him. He took them all in, just in case. Three groups, each with their leader and respective thugs present. It was a veritable who's-who of the Gotham underworld: Maroni, the Chechen, Gambol, they were all there and in such _style._ He doubted Coppola could paint a better picture of crime in all its splendor.

The criminals were on edge, he noted with pleasure. Each one eyed him as they would a cockroach. Joker made a small bet with himself.

Gambol slammed his hand on the weak table. "Gimme one reason why my boy here shouldn't pull your head off!" Sakura rolled her eyes. Ever the stereotype, that man.

He won the bet. Winning made him smile, and smile he did. He grinned, baring even yellow teeth to his audience. "How 'bout a magic trick?" The pencil was in his hand in a moment, just as Gambol's 'boy' rose angrily from his seat. "I'm gonna make this pencil disappear," he said, casting his gloved hands about like a magician.

Sakura crossed her arms, half-interested in the whack job, his pencil and Gambol's beefy goon. There was a loud smack and the latter's forehead hit the table, only to fall backwards and into a pile on the floor. The pencil had, in fact disappeared. Into the man's eye socket. The Joker looked so pleased, Sakura thought he would bow. She herself took a mental note of the trick. It would work very well in interrogations - or intimidations, as the Joker was doing here. Indeed, his trick was a only a performance, a ploy, to ensure the undivided attention of his audience. A tad theatrical, but ultimately effective. Quite alike to someone else she knew.

"Ta da!" he cheered, falling into a chair. He leaned over, waving his hands again. "It's-," he gasped, staring at the table. "Ah, it's gone!" Some of the men drew back, disgusted, the Chechen looked impressed and she laughed, loudly, a smirk twisting her features. This Joker lived up to the name. Maroni eyed her over his shoulder, his lips pursed.

Joker looked up, clearly pleased. Any laughter but his own had become unfamiliar. It was such a serious world, after all. "Laugh all you want, girly," he giggled. In his excitement he licked his lips and then the scars around his mouth. She hadn't noticed them before. "Nice to see someone enjoys my jokes. Oh and," he turned his eyes on Maroni, his gloved hands resting on his purple lapels, "by the way, the suit wasn't cheap." He smiled wider, making his scars more pronounced. "You oughta know, you bought it!"

This guy wasn't half bad. Exactly the spice she was looking for to shake up the evening. She nearly smiled again but a familiar, almost intoxicating smell forced her to frown. Across the table, one of Gambol's men had lit a cigar and was puffing away calmly.

"Do you mind?" she screeched, not bothering to check herself. Gambol's man, along with much of the room, froze. She straightened and squared her shoulders, clearly on the offensive. Then she gestured between herself and the smoldering cigar. "Nursing mother here!"

Gambol's man sneered and took a long drag from his cigar before blowing a smoke ring in her direction. Joker found himself watching in anticipation. His eyes darted between Sakura and the offending thug. His gaze strayed for a moment; oh yes, she certainly was nursing. In his mind, he laughed wildly. Did Mama Cat have claws?

"Are you deaf, gorilla?" she roared, standing and pulling her gun. In a single motion, she had weapon cocked and aimed. Joker giggled. Another bet won. "I don't need such close range to put one between your EYES!"

Gambol rose, as did the smoking thug, their hands straying to their automatics. The Italians yelled in protest, rallying around their own. Only Joker remained silent, laughing in his head as he stared at the livid Mama Cat. She was no kitty, this one. More a tiger, ready and willing to spring, than the spoiled kitten image she spoon-fed the papers. Oh, yes, she was the one the magazines were going on about. Falcone, the pampered princess of crime who wouldn't get her hands dirty. What ever happened to responsible journalism?

Maroni, the undisputed leader, wouldn't stand for the chaos and raised his hands, demanding quiet. He laid a hand on Sakura's arm, pulling her down with surprising force. "Put it out," he added, staring down Gambol's thug.

"He's not your man, Maroni," Gambol snapped, his voice rising again. "Don't order him around. And you should put a muzzle on your bitch."

"Oooh, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry," Joker murmured, his eyes wide. She tensed, like a Jack-in-the-Box. One more twist.

Maroni's expression soured into a sneer, but Sakura beat him to the punch. "And you should get your GED," she snarled. She could still feel the cold gun in her hand and longed for its touch again. Gambol curled his fist and made to stand-

"Enough!" The Chechen roared, as if he were one of his precious dogs. "Put out cigar, and everyone shut up!" Thankfully, they obeyed.

Joker nodded, folding his hands behind his head. "It's nice to see a sensible man in situations like this."

The boss continued, either unaware or unfazed by the Joker's comments. "Now, I want to hear proposition from clown!"

"Thanks, Stalin," Joker sighed, leaning over to pat the Chechen on the shoulder. It was an awkward, robotic movement, as if even an action so neutral was foreign to the Joker, a fact not lost on Sakura. Was he that detached from humanity? She didn't doubt it.

"So, let's wind back the clocks a year. These, uh, cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you." He paused to lick a scar, smirking all the while. He was enjoying this. "I mean…what happened? Did your balls drop off?" He didn't miss a few of the thugs shifting uncomfortably, or the girl with the itchy trigger finger, smirking pointedly around at the others. He wracked his memory, trying to remember her name. Something Falcone. Ah, well. Not like it mattered anyway. "You see, a guy like me-."

Gambol couldn't resist. "Freak." He drew out the word, savoring it.

Joker tried to continue undeterred, "A guy like me-," he couldn't and rounded on Gambol, his eyes narrowed. "Look, listen, I know why you choose to have your little, uh, _group therapy sessions_ in broad daylight." The girl snickered quietly into her hand, earning a glare from her pompous uncle. Joker glanced at her again, his eyes darting quickly, before moving back to Gambol. "I know why you're afraid to go out at night. The Batman." He began to shake, excited by his audience's rapt attention. Even the girl was calm, listening and suddenly serious. "See Batman has shown Gotham your true colors, UN-fortunately. And Dent, he's just the beginning. Now as for the the, uh, television's so-called plan, Batman has no jurisdiction. He'll find him and make him squeal-."

Her gun was out in the blink of eye when she rounded on one of the Chechen's men. He had a cigarette stuck between his lips and clearly didn't understand English. She put a bullet in his kneecap anyways "What did I fucking say about smoking?" she growled, watching him fall to the ground.

Joker leaned back, desperate for a better view. His pulse raced, spurred on by the mixing scent of blood and gunpowder. He peered around the Chechen with his Chelsea grin and saw the Falcone girl step over the man, writhing in pain, to stamp out the smoldering cigarette. Her expression was blank, unfeeling, as she returned to her seat. Gambol was blissfully quiet.

The Chechen muttered something in Russian before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. He didn't care about his man, only the plan. "What do you propose we do?"

"It's simple," Joker purred, overjoyed to deliver the punchline. He glanced her way, to make sure she was listening. He wanted her to listen, to laugh, more than the others. "Kill the Batman."

Her response was unexpected. She frowned and looked away, her brow creasing, her lips pulled into a pout. He expected her to smile again, he wanted to see that smile, and at his best joke too. But Mama Cat's frown was not unattractive. Not in the very least.

"If it's so simple," Maroni sneered, "Why haven't you done it already?"

Joker grinned and answered quickly. "If you're good at something, never do it for free."

"Amen," she muttered, her frown receding.

The Chechen drew Joker's attention before he could respond to the girl. "How much you want?"

Another punchine. "Uh…half."

She didn't laugh again but this time, she was the only one. "You're crazy," Gambol snapped.

Joker didn't like that. "I'm not." His voice dropped an octave and his dark stare seemed to chill the room. Sakura watched him, now wary instead of entertained. Maybe Gambol had a point. "No. I'm. Naw-TUH." Even he didn't sound convinced. "Anyways, if we don't deal with this now soon little, uh," he wracked his memory again, "Gambol here won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma."

Gambol's yell drowned out her soft laughter, but Joker didn't miss the smile. It excited him. "ENOUGH from the clown!" Gambol roared, pounding a fist on the table.

"You know," Joker really couldn't resist baiting Gambol one last time, "It's nice to see affirmative action being put to good use." He was rewarded with another round of laughter, this time from most of the Italians. This only incensed Gambol further and he ran at Joker, arms outstretched…

"Ah tuh tuh tuht," Joker tsked, jumping back from his chair. He drew back his jacket to reveal a network of grenades attached to a string in his hand. "Let's not _blow_ things out of proportion."

Gambol froze. Even he knew when he was beaten. "You think you can steal from _us_ and just walk away?"

Joker didn't miss a beat. "Yeah…"

"I'm putting the word out," Gambol roared, "500 grand for this clown dead. A million alive."

Sakura only scoffed. Gambol always was cheap. And Joker wasn't afraid as he simply shrugged off the threat, more focused on the presentation at hand.

"Alriighttt," he sighed, turning slightly from Gambol, as if the criminal was a child to be humored and then ignored. "Why don't you give me a call when you start taking things a little more seriously." His free hand shuffled in a pocket before drawing out a tattered playing card. He giggled slightly, "Here's my card…"

In a whirlwind of purple fabric and swirling motion, he was gone. Only the swinging back door and the dirty card remained, solid reminders of his lingering presence.

Like a dark cloud, the Joker descended on Gotham, his smile to be feared and his word obeyed. He was a plague, infecting the city with a fear more potent and paralyzing than any toxin Jonathan Crane could whip up. To this disease, she felt herself slipping under, succumbing to the black soul far within. In her mind, she was being pulled along, deeper and deeper, with neither the will nor the strength to fight the dark's seduction.

Oh yes, Sakura Falcone was back in.

* * *

**All those episodes of Law & Order really came in handy back there. Sorry for the mainly movie dialogue, but I promise to shake things up once we get moving! **

**P.S. The Joker really likes reviews.**


	9. Maroni's Ace

**Thanks to everyone for the support and reviews, especially those of you returning fans! It's great to have you back and I'm glad you weathered the storm, as it were (the storm being my silly hectic life). Because I leave for college in a few days, and my school happens to be cross country, it goes without saying that updates will definitely become scattered between now and September. You know, adjusting to my new life and all that. So bear with me through the moving, settling and schooling process. But I have to say, I'm finding it very hard to stay away - I don't think I've ever been so invested in a fanfic. Well, lucky you!**

**P.S. Reviews are greatly, greatly appreciated, from everyone on every topic. I love getting critiques so don't be afraid to hand them out! It's the only way I grow as a writer and therefore the only way the story can get better! So feel free to drop me a little line!**

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**IX - Maroni's Ace**

* * *

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this," she teased, her voice laced with laughter. His response, an exasperated sigh, crackled through the earpiece, distorted by the poor cellular connection. "Alright, alright, don't get your..._cape_ in a twist." She giggled openly, amused with herself and her ability to taunt the man who scared the most cold-blooded of men. "We have a deal, correct?" Her tone, still blissfully light, deepened slightly. There was business to attend to.

"You tell me what you know, I get his preliminary trial moved up."

She licked her lips in and absentminded fashion. It had become somewhat of a habit, as of late. The dry air, maybe? "Have you spoken to Miss Dawes about this."

"Not yet, but I will."

"And you're sure she'll do it?" she pressed, her laughter gone. "I'm not giving up what I know without a guarantee."

"Sorry I didn't have time to put it in writing, " Bruce replied, sounding unamused at best. She, on the other hand, chuckled lowly. He wasn't rasping away today, a fact that put her in a very good mood. The Batman voice always was annoying and a tad over the top. "I'll get you what you need. You have my word."

"I'll hold you to that," she warned, leaning back against into her new leather couch. A few feet away, the nanny occupied Saffron with a few expensive, colorful toys.

Bruce nodded, acknowledging her threat. "I know." He paused and, on Sakura's end, he could hear tiny peals of laughter. The baby. "So what did you hear?"

"Besides the uninteresting BS that made up 90 percent of yesterday?" In his mind, he laughed rather loudly. She wasn't swearing, not in front of the baby. How _responsible_. "Well, quite frankly I'm surprised Gambol hasn't been taken in yet. Guy's so stupid, even the cops could get him. The Chechen doesn't care if you shoot his guys-."

"You shot someone?"

"Not important," she breezed, shrugging it off like a worn-out jacket, "And I met your Joker."

"So?"

"So he's a real nut. I'm talking straitjacket, solitary and a cell for a hundred life sentences."

Bruce clucked his tongue. "That bad?"

"The guy crashed a meeting comprised primarily of the hardened criminals he just stole _sixty-eight million dollars_ from. So yeah, I'd say he's more than a few screws loose."

"So Bank of Gotham is one of yours?" He tried his best to sound curious, innocent even, though he knew she'd never tell him, not about something so close to her.

She scoffed, "Focus, Bruce. Anyways, this Joker says he wants to help us get back to the way things were."

"Before Batman." It wasn't a question.

"Bingo. What's it like to be the root of all evil to the...evil people?"

On the other end, a thousand miles away, Bruce Wayne didn't laugh or even smile at her playful jibe. "You can crack jokes _after_ you spit out whatever you're dancing around."

"Well, the Joker's offered his services." As she spoke, she felt herself shudder but in fear or excitement, she couldn't tell.

"To do what?"

"Kill you," she chirped, nonchalant and playful. Her voice, that is. Her eyes, which Bruce could not see, darkened with distaste. The nanny looked at her sidelong, hardly daring to barely glance her way. Sakura understood and dismissed her with a wave of her hand. The girl didn't want to hear anything more. "And he wants half."

"Half?" Bruce sputtered, "Half of what?"

"The money Lao's taken with him to Hong Kong. I told you, the guy is crazy."

"But you're going to pay him."

"_They're_ going to pay him," she corrected. "I don't keep my money in Mob banks and I wouldn't trust that Chinese guy with a single dollar. I'm not completely stupid." Separate but equal. "Speaking of Lao, what are- what's Batman going to do now that he's gone back to Hong Kong?"

He smiled and leaned back in his white chaise, an untouched drink in his other hand. "You don't read the papers much, do you?" As if on cue, a chorus of girlish giggles and a tropical breeze accompanied his voice.

"Where are you?"

Again, he laughed. She could now hear Alfred in the background and the roar of a plane engine. "Sorry, but I've got to get moving. Can we finish this another time?" he matched her light and airy tone, incensing her wildly.

"What about Jon? Our deal?" She sounded desperate. Right where he wanted her to be.

"As far as I'm concerned, you haven't told me much of anything. Just another madman's gunning for me."

"But this is _the_ madman," she growled. "I'm telling you, he's an animal and he's just been let out of the cage."

"You did it, it's _your_ problem," he snapped back. "I'll call when I'm finished. Maybe you'll have something worth saying _then_."

And then he hung up. You'd think Bruce Wayne would have learned some manners by now.

* * *

This wasn't like the last time. No grotty kitchen, no metal detectors and no Gambol. The police report, hastily filed and quickly closed, didn't go into the nitty gritty, but she didn't need the details to understand what happened. "Carved like a fucking pumpkin", as a police mole so eloquently put it, was explanation enough. In life, Gambol always complicated things and in death, well, it was quite the opposite. No inquiries, no weeping widows. No one of any importance would be sending any flowers to his very small funeral. Not the Chechen, not the Falcones. Especially not the Falcones. Gambol had been a lot of trouble, much more than he was worth, and almost everyone was glad to be rid of his dead weight.

The murder was not without reason. The Joker had made his point and made it loud and clear. He meant business. He could follow his word. He could kill the Batman. That, more than his sinister laughter, more than the image of Gambol's shredded face, scared her straight. This wasn't just a thug running his mouth. This was very real and very, very close to the man she reluctantly called a friend.

Lao's capture in Hong Kong, at Batman's hands no less, forced Sal Maroni into a corner. He hated being forced, but he hated being cornered more. The boss remembered the Joker well but now, instead of seeing a madman, he saw an escape. An opportunity. A chance.

"I'll risk it," he said, his lips pursed and jaw set. Sakura sat back in her dining chair, hoping his unfounded bravado wouldn't rub off on her. "He'll do it, we'll pay him the money. And then things go back."

"Please," she rolled her eyes, "Even if- _when_ you kill him, things won't go back to the way they were before. They can't. He's changed too much."

Maroni sighed. "He'll be dead. That's change enough."

"And what about the Joker? What happens _after_ he goes through with it?"

"Hell if I know," he shrugged, "and hell if I care."

She snorted, less than amused. Enough time with the currently jailed Jonathan Crane had taught her the basics of crazy. Rule number one: letting the monster out of it's cage is much easier than putting it back in.

"You're going to regret this," she sing-songed. Her fingers splayed, reaching for a cigarette she knew wasn't there. Damn habits. So hard to break. Thankfully, the occupants of the secluded second-floor dining room, that is the Falcones, the Chechen and their thugs, had wisely _elected_ not to smoke. Even those who didn't speak English got the picture after what happened to their comrade some days before. There wasn't even an ashtray in sight, Sakura noted, an indication of the wait staff's dedication to her comfort. Her family did own the place, after all. "You know," she continued, miffed at her uncle's indifference, "I'm not wrong. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean you can't admit that."

Maroni pulled back from his meal, a scowl twisting his features. Insubordination would not be tolerated. "That's enough-."

"Carmine Falcone was man enough to accept a woman as his best," she sneered. Her hands spread on the table top, itching for the thrill she had long been without.

"And look where it got him!" Maroni gestured to her. "Unless I'm mistaken, your boyfriend is the reason he's got life in the loony bin." He sipped his wine slowly, allowing his words to sink in. They fell on her like hammer blows, pounding into her brain. "So excuse me for not hangin' on your every word. I'd like to keep my sanity, if ya don't mind." His gaze, fixed on her face, hardened until his eyes resembled stone. "And if you'd like to keep your boyfriend alive, you'll sit back and shut the fuck up."

Sakura felt her defenses crumble as she succumbed to Maroni's word. It stung, being rebuked, but not so much as the notion that she, Sakura-Fucking-Falcone, meant next to nothing. She had no pull, no power, and no sway over the Falcone boss; her greatest asset, Mob might, was all but gone. Maroni had put her in her place, publicly, reducing her to little more than a decoration. She felt like one of those animal heads, nailed to the wall, a symbol of the wild brought low to quietly watch the world pass by. Her lion's heart, her reckless nature had failed. Maroni had his ace, his trump card, to hold over her: Jonathan Crane. They had revealed their relationship, his location, to Maroni; their first in a long line of mistakes.

* * *

**Okay, this was not meant to be so short but I wanted to put at least SOMETHING out before I left for school. I'm 99 sure this will be my last post before the move, so I have no idea when the next update will be. Don't count on anytime soon, but you never know. **


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